<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Wanderer in the mist of time by Elenyafinwe</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27757606">Wanderer in the mist of time</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenyafinwe/pseuds/Elenyafinwe'>Elenyafinwe</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Peredhil [19]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works &amp; Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family, Family Feels, Family Reunions, Gen, Grandpa Maglor, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Lindir is secretly Maglor, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Mental Health Issues, Redemption, Rivendell | Imladris, Sad with a Happy Ending, Secret Identity, Temporary Amnesia, Third Age, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, and the Arkenstone a silmaril</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:34:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>36,979</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27757606</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenyafinwe/pseuds/Elenyafinwe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Not all those who wander are also lost. One winter evening in Bree, the ranger Aragost meets a silent elven with a remarkable talent for music. He offers Lindir to come with him to the Dúnedain and live with them for a while, unaware of who Lindir really is.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arwen Undómiel &amp; Maglor | Makalaurë, Elladan &amp; Elrohir &amp; Elrond Peredhel, Elladan &amp; Elrohir &amp; Maglor | Makalaurë, Elladan &amp; Elrohir (Tolkien), Elrond Peredhel &amp; Lindir, Elrond Peredhel &amp; Maglor | Makalaurë, Lindir &amp; Aragost</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Peredhil [19]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2077245</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>69</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>156</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The singer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            A translation of

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/729708">Wanderer im Nebel der Zeit</a> by Elenyafinwe.
        </li>

    </ul><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The singer meets a ranger of the North and gets a name.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CN alcohol, mental health issues, eating disorder</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The wanderer had forgotten who he was long ago.</p><p>From time immemorial he wandered lonely through the land, singing of long forgotten times. He himself did not know what he was singing about anymore, only that it had been a time of sorrow and pain. A time he had locked away behind an iron curtain. The key to it he had long since thrown away. He did not know why he had done that. But he knew: It was better that way, for him and for everyone around him.</p><p>"Hey, singer, you really ought to eat something now."</p><p>The wanderer looked up and found himself facing the innkeeper Butterbur, who had brought him a plate of bread and cheese, as well as the usual mug of barley beer that the Butterbur family had been brewing for generations. Everyone who stopped at the Prancing Pony tasted it, whether they wanted to or not. This was the one unwritten law in Bree that even the wanderer had quickly learned.</p><p>"When did you last eat?" Butterbur continued. "Must have been days. Or do your kind only live on air and song? Eat something and then sing us something. That's what you came here for, ain't it?"</p><p>The wanderer had made an agreement with the innkeeper that he would entertain the guests with his music in the evening and in return he would receive free food and lodging. At least for a while. Butterbur had not specified how long this time would be.</p><p>"You are too kind, good man," said the wanderer softly. "I don't want to exhaust your hospitality for too long and I will leave in a few days, if that is your wish."</p><p>"Fiddle-dee-dee," Butterbur replied. "I am doing the business of a lifetime here. Everyone is coming to see the elf. I can't brew as much beer as I pour. Giving you free food is the least I can do. But for that, you must eat it."</p><p>"If that is what you wish." The wanderer smiled, but he knew full well that this smile did not reach his eyes.</p><p>Butterbur bent down to him and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. Inconspicuously he pointed to a corner. "If I may give you some advice: Beware of this one. One of the rangers. Wandering people, bring nothing but misfortune. No offence." He smiled sheepishly when it dawned on him what he'd said.</p><p>"Hey, Barley! Where's our beer?" cried some Hobbits from the bar.</p><p>Butterbur stood up again and wiped his hands on his stained apron, as he always did when he was in a hurry. "Yes, yes, come on," he called back. "Butterbur, you rascal, where are you? You should serve faster! Are you snacking again?"</p><p>A lanky boy, the spitting image of his father, with a foamy beard on his lips, scurried out of the kitchen and almost tripped over his own feet. Butterbur Senior went to him to pull his ears. The wanderer was left alone.</p><p>He looked in the direction Butterbur had pointed. In a dark corner of the inn sat a figure shrouded in shadow, his face covered by a hood. A pipe bowl glowed up, eyes flashing in the shadows.</p><p>The wanderer realised that this was only a camouflage, an aura of danger, folded over like a cloak to remain alone. He respected the man's wish and devoted himself to the food in front of him.</p><p>Yes, when was the last time he had eaten something? Must have been days ago. He often tended to forget about it. A soft voice inside him warned that this was not a good sign, but he had centuries of experience in ignoring it. His eyes fell on his hands. Long, slender fingers, wrapped in leather gloves that concealed the fact that his hands were not only frighteningly gnarled but also burned.</p><p>Memories. Memories that were better kept locked up.</p><p>He ate.</p><p>Then he stood up, took his harp and played music, because that's what the good people of Bree expected of him. They remained devoutly silent, unaware that this was only a fraction of his actual ability. They did not know what music had once been sung at elven courts.</p><p>Memories.<br/>
The wanderer sang.</p><p> </p><p>Firiel looked out at three o‘clock:</p><p>the grey night was going;</p><p>Far away a golden cock</p><p>clear and shrill was crowing.</p><p>The trees were dark, the light was pale;</p><p>waking birds were cheeping;</p><p>A wind moved cool and frail</p><p>through dim leaves creeping.</p><p> </p><p>She watched the gleam at window grow,</p><p>till the long light was shimmering</p><p>On land and leaf; on grass below</p><p>grey dew was glimmering.</p><p>Over the floor her feet crept,</p><p>down the stairs they twinkled,</p><p>Through the grass they dancing stepped</p><p>all with dew besprinkled.</p><p> </p><p>Her gown had jewels upon its hem,</p><p>as she ran down to the river,</p><p>And leaned upon a willow-stem,</p><p>and watched the water quiver.</p><p>A kingfisher plunged down like a stone</p><p>in a blue flash falling,</p><p>Bending reeds were softly blown,</p><p>lily-leaves were sprawling.</p><p> </p><p>A sudden music to her came,</p><p>as she stood there gleaming</p><p>With free hair in the morning‘s flame</p><p>on her shoulders streaming.</p><p>Flutes were there, and harps were wrung,</p><p>and there was sound of singing</p><p>Like wind-voices keen and young</p><p>in green leaves swinging.</p><p> </p><p>A boat with golden beak and oar</p><p>and timbers white came gliding;</p><p>Swans went sailing on before,</p><p>her swift course guiding.</p><p>Fair folk out of Elvenland</p><p>robed in white were rowing,</p><p>And three with crowns she saw there stand</p><p>with bright hair flowing.</p><p> </p><p>They sang their song, while minstrels played</p><p>on harp and flute slowly</p><p>Like sea heard in a green glade</p><p>under mountains holy.</p><p>The beak was turned, the boat drew nigh</p><p>with elven-treasure laden,</p><p>‘Firiel! Come aboard!’ they cry,</p><p>‘O fair earth-maiden!’</p><p> </p><p>‘O wither go ye, Elvenfolk,</p><p>down the waters gliding?</p><p>To the twilight under beach and oak</p><p>in the green forest hiding?</p><p>To foam that falls upon the shore</p><p>and the white gulls crying?</p><p>To Northern isles grey and frore</p><p>on strong swans flying?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Nay! Out and onward, far away</p><p>past oak and elm and willow,</p><p>Leaving western havens grey,</p><p>cleaving the green billow,</p><p>We go back to Elvenhome</p><p>beyond the last mountains,</p><p>Whose feet are in the outer foam</p><p>of the world’s deep fountains.</p><p> </p><p>In Elvenhome a clear bell</p><p>is in white tower shaking!</p><p>To wood and water say farewell,</p><p>the long road taking!</p><p>Here grass fades and leaves fall</p><p>and sun and moon wither;</p><p>And to few comes the far call</p><p>that bids them journey hither.’</p><p> </p><p>Firiel looked from the river-bank,</p><p>one step daring;</p><p>And then her heart misgave and shrank,</p><p>and she halted staring.</p><p>Higher climbed the round sun,</p><p>and the dew was drying;</p><p>Faint faded, one by one,</p><p>their fair voices crying.</p><p> </p><p>No jewels bright her gown bore,</p><p>as she walked back from the water,</p><p>Under roof and dark door,</p><p>earth’s fair daughter.</p><p>At eight o’clock in green and white,</p><p>with long hair braided,</p><p>She tripped down, leaving night</p><p>and a vision faded.</p><p> </p><p>Up climbed the round sun,</p><p>and the world was busy,</p><p>in and out, walk and run,</p><p>like an anthill dizzy.</p><p>Inside the house were feet</p><p>going pitter-patter;</p><p>Brooms, dusters, mats to beat,</p><p>pails, and dishes clatter.</p><p> </p><p>Breakfast was on table laid;</p><p>there were voices loud and merry;</p><p>There was jam, honey, marmalade,</p><p>milk and fruit, and berry.</p><p>Of this and that people spoke,</p><p>jest, work, and money,</p><p>Shooting bird, and felling oak,</p><p>and ‘please, pass the honey!’</p><p> </p><p>The last notes faded away. The wanderer fell silent. A pale memory of his music still hung in the dimly lit taproom. Even the simple-minded farmer Farnrich made no comment.</p><p>"Singer, tell us, why do the elves have to go", the young Brockhouse wanted to know.</p><p>His mother hit him on the head. "Be quiet. These are the nonsense these Tooks put into your ear. You shouldn't always sneak off to them!"</p><p>"But it's true! My friend Bingo has seen the Towers. They're to the west. Elves built them, he says."</p><p>"If you ask me, they're just stories made up by lazy brats to get out of work," growled farmer Tom. "My boy always runs away too, chasing ghosts in the fields. Nobody really believes that elves would bother with the likes of us."</p><p>The wanderer stole away and let the mortals talk it out among themselves. When he returned to his place, he saw that he had got company. The ranger had sat down with him.</p><p>The wanderer was silent when he sat down again and sipped his beer. The stranger would say something if he was ready. And if he wasn't, then so it was. The wanderer was used to silence.</p><p>"It amazes me to find any of the fair people in this tavern," the Dúnadan finally broke the silence.</p><p>"A better place than many a place I have stayed before," said the wanderer.</p><p>"Yet you once lingered in the noblest courts, am I right?"</p><p>The wanderer froze. "You speak of a person who was lost in the mists of time. I don't want to talk about it."</p><p>The Dúnadan leaned back and pulled his pipe. "As you wish. They call me Aragost, son of Arahad. Will you tell me your name? Or at least one that you're willing to share."</p><p>The wanderer relaxed again.This man did not know who he was. Why should he? Was that what he really feared? No one spoke of him anymore, people had forgotten centuries ago that he had ever existed.</p><p>"I no longer have a name. It was taken from me long ago", he said. "But here they call me the singer."</p><p>"With your permission, I will call you Lindir," said Aragost.</p><p>Lindir nodded. "A name like any other. I accept it."</p><p>"Then I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Lindir." Aragost smiled and reached out his hand.</p><p>Lindir hesitated for a moment but then he took his hand. "The honour is all mine."</p><p>For a while they sat silently next to each other. Aragost smoked his pipe and watched the room. The humans and Hobbits were still discussing whether Elves would really be involved with mortals and if so, where they would take them, as they had planned with Fíriel.</p><p>"I wonder if you sang your song with an ulterior motive," Aragost finally wanted to know."It's a pretty story that I picked up on my travels. I thought the mortals here would like it," said Lindir.</p><p>"Fíriel is not just a poor girl dreaming of a better life," said Aragost. "She was also the daughter of King Ondoher - and my ancestor."</p><p>Lindir really looked at the man next to him for the first time. His clothes were torn and stained with the dirt of the winter streets. His face was covered with a thick beard, testifying to long weeks in the wilderness, but underneath it noble features were visible. The man's grey eyes were wise and spoke their own story. A story of royal descent.</p><p>Lindir had seen these eyes before, long ago. A time he had locked away.</p><p>He averted his gaze.</p><p>"I heard... stories of the Dúnedain," he said hesitantly. "You are their Chieftain?"</p><p>"No, this is my father Arahad and his time is far from over," said Aragost with a laugh. "And I am glad about that. The old man should take his time, I must take his burden upon me soon enough. But tell me, Lindir, do you have a home? A place where you can stay?"</p><p>"For the moment, the inkeeper Butterbur has graced me with his hospitality. But a home? I lost that countless years ago. Since then I have wandered the land singing my songs. The stars alone are the roof over my head."</p><p>"A wanderer like me. What would you think of coming with me for a while?", Aragost suggested. " I was heading home through Bree, anyway."</p><p>Lindir fell into silence for a long time and thought about it. "I... fear that I am not good company," he finally said. "I am used to the solitude and silence of the wilderness. Already I linger too long among the good people of Bree."</p><p>"Believe me, we all are," Aragost said with a gloomy heaviness in his voice. "We Dúnedain are a wandering people. You see the way the 'good people of Bree' look at me, the shady looks full of suspicion. They do not know who we really are. I think you would fit in well with us."</p><p>Lindir threw him a sidelong glance. "And who are you really?" he asked in a subdued voice. "What's hiding under the ranger's veil?"</p><p>Aragost puffed on his pipe one last time. "This is a story for another hall."</p><p>The next day, in the early hours of the morning, they set off together.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The Last Ship by J.R.R. Tolkien in The Adventures of Tom Bombadil</p><p>I have my own HC as far as Elrond is concerned. In that Maglor plays no role in the Second and Third Age. Nevertheless, I wanted to write something about the theory that Lindir is Maglor, simply because I like it so much. So theoretically this text is not part of my HC, but I use it anyway. A few old acquaintances like Ceomon and Rethtulu will appear nevertheless.</p><p>Next chapter Lindir and Aragost will travel further up into the north and we meet Aragost's family.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Dúnedain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lindir and Aragost go north to stay with the Dúnedain during winter.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CN mental health issues</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">The winter of 2509 of the Third Age came early, especially here in the north. Aragost had been surprised by this; in fact he had planned to return home only in a few weeks. From one night to the next, frost had enveloped the land, and then it began to snow and had not stopped for days. The people crept into their houses, bastions against the cold, locked out the winter and hoped that nothing bad would come through their thin wooden doors.</p><p class="western">"The people of Bree have no idea how good they have it," said Aragost, when they had left the little town behind and it had disappeared behind the hills. "Dangers lurk here in the wilderness that would freeze the blood in their veins if they only knew."</p><p class="western">"You sound bitter, Aragoþt," Lindir said. Unlike man, he hardly sank into the snow and walked light-footedly over it. So he had offered to take some of his luggage from him. Aragost had gratefully accepted.</p><p class="western">"I shouldn't." Sometimes, however, it is difficult to remember while knowing what once was and is now lost.</p><p class="western">Lindir said nothing. He did not want to push Aragost while he himself remained silent about his own past.</p><p class="western">For a while they wandered through the winter snowy landscape. They walked cross-country, because by now it didn't make any difference anyway whether they took the road or not. Out here at this time of year no one was walking and the paths were hardly crowded. Aragost was an experienced man of the wilderness, yet he had his difficulties getting through the snow. His face was reddened.</p><p class="western">"I am curious, Lindir: What do you know about us Dúnedain?" Aragost finally wanted to know.</p><p class="western">"You are of royal descent, you have already told me so much yourself," replied Lindir. "Perhaps even of nobler descent than you yourselves suspect, you men of the West."</p><p class="western">Aragost laughed within himself. "Oh, do not be deceived by my torn down appearance, friend Elf. We Dúnedain of the North have by no means forgotten that our forefathers came by sea from the West. We have not forgotten and we will not forget. The North may not have seen a king for many generations, but we still protect our people. Even though these people may have forgotten us."</p><p class="western">"Not all that is gold glitters," murmured Lindir.</p><p class="western">"And not all who wander are lost. Is that not so?" Aragost gave him a sharp look. "There is much more to you than you're willing to reveal. But I accept your silence, fear not."</p><p class="western">Lindir averted his gaze and looked at a grey horizon. "Some, however, wander to lose themselves..."</p><p class="western">The land lay still and frozen. Nothing moved. The air was crystal clear and bitingly cold. Even Lindir, although an elf and therefore less sensitive to the rigours of nature, froze. He didn't want to know what happened to Aragost there. But the man endured it with stoic composure and an iron will. Lindir was impressed.</p><p class="western">While they wandered, Aragost told him what he was doing out here. Lindir's respect for the man grew. The Dúnedain of the North were brave men who fought in secret against the creatures of the enemy and protected innocent people like those in Bree from the darkness. They accepted that they were punished with resentment so as not to betray themselves to the enemy.</p><p class="western">"He is still searching for Isildur's legacy," said Aragost. "He has not forgotten who cut the ring off his finger and robbed him of his precious treasure."</p><p class="western">Lindir was as if he had heard about it, but it was a memory like a dream, dark, confused and hardly tangible. He could hardly remember where he had been a year ago. Only the music had remained for him. So much had been locked up and locked away. And it was a good thing.</p><p class="western">His fingers found their way to the strings of his harp. Music made him forget. Music absorbed him completely and was like balm for his destroyed soul. Music was the only thing he had left.</p><p class="western">Aragost visibly enjoyed his songs, but never asked what they meant to Lindir. He respected Lindir's silence, perhaps he had an inkling of the abysses that would otherwise open up. On the other hand, he liked to talk about his family. Lindir did not know why Aragost shared all this with him, when he himself emphasised how important secrecy was to the Dúnedain. Perhaps he knew that Lindir could take any secret to his grave, and was simply happy to see a friendly face with whom he could share his burden.</p><p class="western">"I have a son, Aravorn," he just said. "He now has twelve summers, but he is currently staying at Imladris with my wife Ivorwen, as is the custom in our Dúnedain. So you will probably not be able to meet him for a while yet. I regret this a little; I think you would like my son. He admires the elves and everything to do with them and loves it in Imladris. Even though I must admit that I miss him. But he is not yet old enough to return to his kind and I must wait."</p><p class="western">"Once, in times long forgotten, it was customary among the men of the House of Hador to give their offspring to the elves to be trained," said Lindir. "You still honour this tradition?"</p><p class="western">"It is more than that," Aragost opened. "In Gondor they may have forgotten who the Sea Kings of Númenor once were, but we remember. Lord Elrond, master of Rivendell, is the oldest and wisest of my tribe."</p><p class="western">Lindir froze in the middle of the movement. Memories raged within him and demanded his attention. He clasped with all his might the castle he had locked them away with. Dangerous, very dangerous.</p><p class="western">He slammed the door to the prison. Peace returned. The snow lay untouched before him.</p><p class="western">"Lindir? Are you all right? You look like you've seen a ghost." Worry lay in Aragast's voice. Then he looked around, alarmed. "Or do you sense some danger? Your senses are finer than mine."</p><p class="western">"No, there is no danger approaching us, everything is peaceful around us", Lindir reassured him.</p><p class="western">Aragost breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed. "Good. But know this: If you ever feel the need to share your burden, I will listen to you with pleasure."</p><p class="western">"I thank you", Lindir said succinctly.</p><p class="western">No, he did not want to share his burden. He wanted to forget it. But it was the curse of the Eldar not to forget. He had to forge more powerful locks.</p><p class="western">They went on. Their path led them further north through an empty, desolate land. Hardly anything lived here anymore, and Lindir wondered how the Dúnedain managed to survive here. But they did, somehow.</p><p class="western">Again and again they passed by the ruins of a perished empire. Each time Aragost paused and muttered a few words to himself. Lindir did not ask why, not to offend him. Aragost explained it to him anyway.</p><p class="western">"I remember my ancestors and thank them," he said. "Without them I would not be standing where I am today. And I promise them to honour their memory and work towards making their heritage shine again one day."</p><p class="western">"A noble request." Lindir bowed his head slightly.</p><p class="western">After just over a week, they finally reached their destination, a settlement on the Baranduin River, halfway between the North Downs and the Hills of Evendim. All these names meant nothing to Lindir. He had been amazed at Bree's existence in the first place. The last time he had been here, the settlement had not yet been founded. How long might that have been now? Maybe ten years. Or was it longer?</p><p class="western">Time had long since lost its meaning.</p><p class="western">The settlement consisted of a group of about a dozen wooden houses grouped around a nave. Smoke rose from chimneys and indicated that people were indeed living here. Otherwise, one might have assumed that this little village was extinct. It nestled itself between two wooded hills in a hollow, crouched and seeking as much protection as possible from the harsh winds of the north. Silence lay over everything and so it hardly differed from the surrounding wilderness.</p><p class="western">Aragost rubbed his cold hands. "Come, quickly into the warmth. I'm tired of this constant cold."</p><p class="western">Lindir followed him in silence.</p><p class="western">Even though nothing moved, Lindir felt that they had been discovered long ago. Aragost stepped out with his long legs and was obviously in a hurry to get back home and warm his frozen limbs. Lindir could not deny that he did not feel the same.</p><p class="western">Aragost headed straight for the nave. Just before he reached it, the door was ripped open and a small boy rushed towards him.</p><p class="western">"Daddy! Daddy! You're home again!" cried the boy enthusiastically.</p><p class="western">Aragost caught him laughing and whirled him around. "Aravorn, what a surprise!" he exclaimed. "I thought you were in Rivendell studying with Master Elrond."</p><p class="western">"Mama missed home, so we took a little winter holiday," Aravorn proudly explained. "It is imperative that I show you what I have learned! Since the summer I am finally allowed to learn sword fighting with Lord Glorfindel. Soon I will be as big and strong as you!"</p><p class="western">He proudly showed his father his not really existing muscles. Aragost tested their strength. "Well, it takes a while before you kill a Balrog."</p><p class="western">Aravorn stuck out his tongue. "You never managed that yourself. Don't brag."</p><p class="western">"It's getting cold, come back inside!" cried a female voice from the longhouse.</p><p class="western">Aragost smiled and told Lindir to follow him. "Come inside in the warmth. You're welcome to come in."</p><p class="western">Only then did Aravorn notice the elf. He struggled for his father to let him down again and then ran to Lindir.</p><p class="western">"Hello, I am Aravorn and my grandfather is Arahad, the chief of our tribe. And who are you?" he babbled, while at the same time he reached out his hand to Lindir.</p><p class="western">Lindir hesitated a moment before he took the hand offered to him. He had still not really understood this custom. "They call me Lindir. I am just a simple minstrel who travels the country singing songs."</p><p class="western">But seeing that the boy was already freezing in his simple shirt, he interrupted all further enquiries by gently directing him inside. Warm air struck him, soaked with the smell of resin and coal. He closed the door behind him and locked out the winter.</p><p class="western">"Ivorwen, my heart, how good to see you again," Aragost greeted his wife at this moment. "And you too, Father. And then also in the best of health! Though you do not like the cold."</p><p class="western">"Be silent, boy," mumbled an old man, apparently Arahad. "I may have seen 144 winters, but I am far from infirm."</p><p class="western">Lindir wondered about the longevity of these people. He had carefully locked away the knowledge of their secret.</p><p class="western">Arahad turned away from his son and joined Lindir. "Welcome, stranger, to my house. I am Arahad, head of this family and chieftain of the Dúnedain. It seems my son has once again gathered up a lost bundle and brought it to us."</p><p class="western">Lindir bowed. "I am Lindir, a travelling bard. Your son was kind enough to offer me his hospitality for a while. I hope I can repay you for it."</p><p class="western">Arahad waved. "That will not be necessary. Anyone looking for a roof over their head is welcome here."</p><p class="western">"Lindir, tell me about the elves, your friends," Aravorn demanded.</p><p class="western">Lindir looked at him irritated. Friends?</p><p class="western">"Hush, Aravorn!", Ivorwen came to Lindir's rescue. "Leave the poor elf alone and help me set the table."</p><p class="western">Arahad showed Lindir where to put his things, and then gave him a place to sleep in a side area of the longhouse. The house itself consisted mainly of one large room with a smaller separate part in the back for the family.</p><p class="western">"We have not lived in palaces for a long time, Fornost has been in ruins for many years," the old man said apologetically. "I hope it is enough for you anyway."</p><p class="western">"I haven't spent such a good night in a long time", Lindir placated him. "But please tell me: What did you mean when you said your son had found another lost bundle?"</p><p class="western">Arahad laughed and patted him on the back. "Well, exactly that! You must know that my son has always had a heart for everything lost. If he found a little bird that had fallen out of its nest, he had to bring it home and nurse it back to health. And so he found Ivorwen, a lost bird alone in the wilderness. But in return for most of the others, she stayed."</p><p class="western">"Your son is a very noble man," Lindir said and bowed again. "I only owe you even more thanks."</p><p class="western">Arahad waved away. Then he pointed to the harp. "I would appreciate some music in my house and this instrument seems very precious. I'm sure you know how to use it."</p><p class="western">"If I can return your hospitality in this way, I will gladly oblige."</p><p class="western">Ivorwen had prepared them a hearty stew. Aragost was besieged by his son, who demanded exciting stories of all his heroic deeds. Ivorwen scolded that no one helped her with the food, but smiled. Arahad released her and placed the bowls of steaming stew on the table.</p><p class="western">Lindir smiled. Then his smile froze. Once he too had owned a family. He quickly locked the fleeting thought away again.</p><p class="western">They sat down and ate. Aragost visibly had to hold back so as not to inhale his bowl. Lindir had trouble getting even one bite down, as always. He felt bad, because the stew tasted really delicious and he hadn't failed to notice that Ivorwen had put extra meat in his portion.</p><p class="western">"I wonder how it is that my son found one of the noble High Elves from the West in the wilderness just like that," said Arahad, after they had been spooning their stew for a while.</p><p class="western">Lindir looked at him questioningly.</p><p class="western">"The light in your eyes", the old man explained. "Only those who come from the West have that, and there are hardly any of those left here in these empty lands. Most of you left us ages ago."</p><p class="western">"For me there is no more ship," murmured Lindir and devoted himself to his meal. "They are all burnt."</p><p class="western">Arahad leaned back. "I see. Well then, your secrets shall remain yours, I respect that."</p><p class="western">As he had promised, Lindir played some music after dinner, even though he didn't feel like singing this time. He played a relaxed, cheerful melody to drive away the thoughts of the dark winter. The family listened devoutly.</p><p class="western">"You are truly a master," Ivorwen said reverently as he finished his playing. "I know only one who plays the harp as you do, but he does not share his music so freely."</p><p class="western">Lindir smiled as he checked the castles. All locked up tight, good. "It must be a coincidence," he said. "Anyone can learn to play the harp."</p><p class="western">"But not everyone has an eternity to master it," Ivorwen thought. "May I ask you one more thing?"</p><p class="western">"It is the least I can do to return your hospitality."</p><p class="western">"Sing us something about the dwarves," Ivorwen asked. "I've always dreamed of travelling to them, but now I don't think I'll ever get the chance."</p><p class="western">Lindir pondered for a moment. Then he nodded and sang another song.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The world was young, the mountains green,</p><p class="western">No stain yet on the Moon was seen,</p><p class="western">No words were laid on stream or stone</p><p class="western">When Durin woke and walked alone.</p><p class="western">He named the nameless hills and dells;</p><p class="western">He drank from yet untasted wells;</p><p class="western">He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,</p><p class="western">And saw a crown of stars appear,</p><p class="western">As gems upon a silver thread,</p><p class="western">Above the shadow of his head.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The world was fair, the mountains tall,</p><p class="western">In Elder Days before the fall</p><p class="western">Of mighty kings in Nargothrond</p><p class="western">And Gondolin, who now beyond</p><p class="western">The Western Seas have passed away:</p><p class="western">The world was fair in Durin’s Day.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">A king he was on cavern throne</p><p class="western">In many-pillared halls of stone</p><p class="western">With golden roof and silver floor,</p><p class="western">And runes of power upon the door.</p><p class="western">The light of sun and star and moon</p><p class="western">In shining lamps of crystal hewn</p><p class="western">Undimmed by cloud or share of night</p><p class="western">There shone for ever fair and bright.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">There hammer on the anvil smote,</p><p class="western">There chisel clove, and graver wrote;</p><p class="western">There forged was blade, and bound was hilt;</p><p class="western">The delver mined, the mason built.</p><p class="western">There beryl, pearl, and opal pale,</p><p class="western">And metal wrought like fishes’ mail,</p><p class="western">Bucker and corslet, axe and sword,</p><p class="western">And shining spears were laid in hoard.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Unwearied then were Durin’s folk;</p><p class="western">Beneath the mountain music woke:</p><p class="western">The harper harped, the minstrels sang,</p><p class="western">And at the gates the trumpets rang.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The world is grey, the mountains old,</p><p class="western">The forge’s fire is ashen-cold;</p><p class="western">No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:</p><p class="western">The darkness dwells in Durin’s halls;</p><p class="western">The shadow lies upon his tomb</p><p class="western">In Moria, in Khazad-dûm.</p><p class="western">But still the sunken stars appear</p><p class="western">In dark and windless Mirrormere;</p><p class="western">There lies his crown in water deep,</p><p class="western">Till Durin wakes again from sleep.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Ivorwen had listened with rapt attention. He saw in her eyes a glimmer of the wealth of Moria, as it flashed in them as she dreamt of the black depths.</p><p class="western">"Well? Was the world fair in Durin's Day?" she wanted to know. "You saw it with your own eyes, didn't you? Did you perhaps sing for the Lords of Nargothrond? Even the hidden King Turgon himself? Surely such noble people had surrounded themselves with only the finest and best musicians."</p><p class="western">But then Lindir fell into silence and said nothing more for the rest of the evening.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Moria-song by J.R.R. Tolkien in The Lord of the Rings</p><p>Next chapter we will meet the twins!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The twins</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lindir stays with the Dúnedain and hears a tale about two star brothers.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I planed on posting this next wednesday, but I most likely wont't be able to post then due to personal reasons. But since today is St. Nick's Day I give you this chapter now ^^ Hope you had/have a nice day and lots of chocolate!</p><p>cn self harm</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">
  <span>Lindir had been sitting outside in the snow for a while and was filled with the music of the night. It had simply become too much. He had thought that his locks had been forged hard enough. Why did they start to crumble now of all times? Now, after all these centuries of blissful forgetting?</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Aragost had also stepped outside. He had apparently heard a raven calling out, which flew to him as he came to the door. Now he tickled the beak of the animal and whispered soft pleasantries in its ear. Lindir did not move, so as not to disturb them.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>But Aragost would not be a ranger if he hadn't noticed the elves sooner or later. He frowned as he saw Lindir sitting leaning against the wall of the house in the shade, and came to him. The raven remained sitting on his fist. The animal was wild, Lindir could see that much, yet it seemed to be very trusting of Aragost. </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Without another word Aragost sat down with Lindir. His raven made a soft, gurgling sound and nibbled at Aragost's hair to beg for more caresses. Aragost laughed softly.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"The old girl here is Cora," he explained. "I found her when I was still a young man. She was injured on the wing and so she could no longer go in search of food on her own. I nursed her back to health and then released her, but she always comes back because she knows that I always have a treat for her."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Hello, Cora," Lindir said quietly.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Cora croaked hoarsely. Then she hopped on Lindir's lap and tugged at his clothes.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"I have nothing for you and there is nothing on me that you could eat," Lindir said gently, but with a smile on his lips.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Cora croaked again. This time it sounded outraged.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"She is very intelligent and has learned some tricks from me," Aragost continued. "Once she watched me hunt and imitated a deer. She could fool me for a surprisingly long time."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Cora hopped back to him when she saw that there was nothing to be gained from Lindir.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"How long have you been sitting out here in the cold?" Aragost finally asked.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"A while," Lindir replied vaguely. It had been almost all night and he was frozen to the bone by now. He did not care. But he was also grateful to Aragost for sparing him tiresome questions.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>They looked up at the stars in silence. Far to the west shone Gil-Estel, his light seemed to mock Lindir. A star of hope that would forever be denied him. No more stars shone for him.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>A single shooting star scurried across the sky. Aragost stirred. </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Let me tell you a story," he said. "I'm not as clever with words as you are and I can't recite them to you in verse. But it is an old story that the sea kings of old brought with them."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"I would love to hear it," said Lindir.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Aragost nodded. Then he began: "In the western evening sky, not far from Gil-Estel, two bright stars shine. We call them Ellaran and Elistyar. Once they were brothers, one mortal, the other immortal. They fell in love with the sisters Ištar and Šamaš, but they were already promised to the brothers Tammuz and Belšazar. So they robbed the sisters, but they got into a fight with Tammuz and Belšazar over this. They succeeded in killing Tammuz and Belšazar, but Ellaran was also killed in the process. Elistyar was also wounded, but because he was immortal, he could not follow his brother. He begged Ilúvatar to take away his immortality so that he could be reunited with Ellaran. Ilúvatar was touched by the great love that existed between the brothers and granted them to be reunited. He carried them up into the sky as stars, where they still stand side by side today. </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Many Dúnedain believe that the light of our souls shines as stars in the night. When a shooting star falls, they see it as a sign that a particularly pure soul is returning to earth and is born in a child that has been blessed with great things.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Lindir had listened in silence, and tears were now running down his face just as silently. How strong did the locks have to become to hold back all the pain that was hidden behind the veil?</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Whatever it was that destroyed your </span>
  <span>
    <em>fea</em>
  </span>
  <span> so thoroughly, it must have been something terrible," Aragost murmured. Then he rose. Cora croaked and flew into a nearby tree. "Come, let's go back inside. You'll freeze to death."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Lindir let himself be led inside.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>In the following days he did not speak and ate even less than he already did. He hardly noticed what was happening around him. Although the family otherwise accepted his silence, Ivorwen at least gently forced him to eat more and combed his hair.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"It's bad enough that my husband is walking around with those shaggy hairs," she scolded, "you don't have to imitate him. Your hair is much too beautiful for that."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Lindir couldn't remember the last time he had properly braided hair. But as he could hardly remember anything that had been more than a week ago anyway, that probably didn't have much to say. Or quite a lot.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Actually, Lindir had planned to leave the village that night Aragost found him. He was used to wandering alone along the coasts for decades, even centuries. The fact that his feet had carried him to Bree, where it all began, had only been a coincidence anyway. All those years had held his castles and suddenly everything crumbled under his fingers. The presence of others was torture for him. And yet he stayed.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>In the following winter months Lindir taught Aravorn Quenya. Aragost must have noticed his old-fashioned accent, but he seemed to think nothing of it. Aravorn, however, was an attentive student who eagerly absorbed everything Lindir taught him - most of it in the bound language, of course.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Aravorn's sword exercises were also continued. Aragost asked Lindir if he wanted to share some of his knowledge, after all, he carried a sword with him, but the elf had refused. He even wondered why he carried a sword with him at all. He should have thrown it into the sea centuries ago. He should not be trusted with weapons …</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>The winter left and Lindir was still with the Dúnedain. It wasn't just the weather that kept him here, he had been through far worse. But what it was that suddenly made him break his millennia-old habits, he did not know either.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Then spring came and Ivorwen went back to Imladris with Aravorn. She offered Lindir that he could accompany her, but he declined. Instead, he joined Aragost as he began once again to roam the wilderness and hunt the enemy's creatures. Although Lindir continued to refuse to even touch a weapon and "forgot" his sword in the longhouse, his fine senses made him a valuable companion on Aragost's wanderings. In recent years, the orcs had become more numerous and the forgotten paths in the wilderness more dangerous. Even though Lindir left mostly unarmed, Arahad was relieved to know that his son was no longer alone.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Neither of them were used to travelling in company. But at the same time they were both used to long weeks of silence and did not need words. Lindir enjoyed not being forced to have trivial conversations. And somehow it was also nice not to be alone any more, even or especially when they had not spoken a word to each other in consensual silence for days.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>But hadn't there been a reason why he always wandered alone before? He had locked him away like so many other things. But it had been important. That much he still knew. A danger. For himself? To others? </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>He should go.He stayed.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Spring left and summer came and with it came the ghosts of the past that Lindir had thought so carefully locked away.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>When he returned with Aragost from one of their raids, he saw that two elves had come to the village. They were tall and of noble stature. Their clothing was fine, though stained by the dust of the streets, and testified to their noble descent. At their side they carried two swords, identical, just as the elves were identical; they were twins. And when Lindir saw these swords, he stood still as if struck by a blow and froze.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>No! No, this could not be! </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Memories of a long lost life flooded into his mind. They could never, ever be! It could not be!</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>With all his might he clung to reality. He was Lindir, an elf without a home or a past. That was all he was. He had never been anything else.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>The two elves stood in front of the longhouse and talked to Arahad. They looked fierce and had their hands on their swords.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Elladan! Elrohir!" cried Aragost when he joined them. "I am glad to see you. But tell me, what brings you here?"</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>The names. No, it wasn't </span>
  <span>
    <em>them</em>
  </span>
  <span>. But they were so terribly like them. How could that be? Lindir wanted to run away, but his legs refused to serve him. He should have just left that night! Instead he was a fool who had stayed.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Hail, Aragost," said one of the twins. "As much as I am pleased to find you in good health, it saddens me to have to bring you gloomy news."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>A shadow fell on Aragast's face. "I do not know you so serious, Elrohir. What has happened?"</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Last autumn, our mother wanted to visit her clan in Lórien, as she so often does, but she never got there," said Elrohir.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Elladan clenched his hands into fists. "Instead, she was attacked by orcs and..."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"I don't even want to talk about the shameful deeds these disgusting creatures have committed!"</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Not even our father could heal her wounds. She sailed west..."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"And now we have sworn bloody vengeance on every Orc who comes before us!"</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Make them pay for what they did to Mother!"</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"And the Dúnedain are behind you," Arahad replied calmly. "What has been done to you has been done to us and must not go unpunished."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Aragost raised his hand. "You know that you have my support in any matter," he said. "But yet I cannot help but wonder what Master Elrond has to say. He is no one who so readily chooses the path of the sword. Or are you here without your father's consent?"</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Father... Were these Elrond's sons? Lindir had difficulty following the conversation as he tried with all his might, yet in vain, to hold the rusted locks together.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Elrohir laughed grimly. "Do not worry. Father knows about it. Even if we spoke a little hastily of swearing."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"This was the part where he got angry," his brother added. "But then he let us go."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"It is a terrible thing that happened to the Lady Celebrían," said Arahad. "I assure you of all the help you need to avenge your mother and I bind all my descendants to this cause. Speak only the word and the Dúnedain will stand by your side. Son, I want you to go with the princes to Rivendell and, in my stead, express my deepest sympathy for this tragedy to Master Elrond."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"We thank you for your support, Arahad," said the twins. "I'm sure Father will be happy to hear that."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Lindir could not bear it any more. His legs gave way under him. The people who stood around him and listened to the conversation made frightened sounds when he collapsed. Aragost only now seemed to remember that he still existed. When he turned around and saw him kneeling on the ground, he rushed to him.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Lindir, are you all right?", he asked anxiously.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>The twins followed him. Lindir stared at the ground under his hands and ducked. Why couldn't he just take his harp and run away, as he had done for the past six thousand years? </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"There is a shadow on his </span>
  <span>
    <em>fea</em>
  </span>
  <span>, deep wounds have been inflicted," said one of the two brothers.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Wounds that never healed," added the other.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Lindir, speak to us. What has happened? Are you not feeling well?" Aragost sounded worried.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Their voices reached him only from far away and muffled. Lindir barely listened as he fought a waterfall with his bare hands. Lindir. He was Lindir. Lindir. Lindir. He repeated it over and over again as he stared into the void. Why was it so hard to hold on to it? He was Lindir. He was, wasn't he? It wasn't that hard. An elf without a home and without a past. Everything else belonged to another life that had never been his.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>So why did he want to flee?</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>One of the brothers made a thoughtful sound. "Hm, this doesn't look good. Malnourished, dull hair and on top of that his destroyed </span>
  <span>
    <em>fea</em>
  </span>
  <span>. Maybe Father can help him."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>What if he didn't want help? What if he just wanted to run away? But Lindir found no more strength in himself. Six thousand years of oblivion. It was just too much. He let himself fall.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ellaran - Star King; Qu.<br/>Elistyar - Star Scholar; Qu.<br/>Ištar and Šamaš as well as Tammuz and Belšazar- Tolkien stated that the Adûnaic language is based on Hebrew. So without further ado I looked for Hebrew names and ended up with Esther. I liked the name, but at least Wikipedia states that the derivation from the old Iraqi Ishtar is not plausible. Nevertheless I stuck to it. Ištar and Šamaš are Akkadian deities and siblings, Ištar is associated with stars and her brother Šamaš (which is now simply used as a female name here) was the sun god. Tammuz was another Babylonian deity, lover of Ištar and god of vegetation. Belšazar was a Babylonian king. All four names are used here as Adûnaic names, which were not transferred to the Quenya (aka I was too lazy to suck something out of my fingers).</p><p>The story of Ellaran and Elistyar is very similar to the story of the Dioscuri Castor and Pollux, which in turn reminded me a lot of Elrond and Elros. Elrond was at least in my HC when Elros was alive, occasionally with him in Númenor, but never returned there after Elros' death. Apparently the brothers had made enough of an impression that this legend was formed in later times among the Númenorian people.</p><p>Next chapter Lindir travels with Aragost and the twins to Imladris and his true identity will be revealed (we know it anyway ^^)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Lord</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lindir travels with Aragost and the twins to Rivendell and meets Elrond.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CN Depressive symptoms, eating disorder, catatonia</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Lindir stared motionless at the ceiling.</p><p class="western">"Sometimes that happens to him, but this time it's especially bad," Aragost said. "It's as if his spirit has left his body."</p><p class="western">"No, I don't think it is allowed to him. I think that would be a mercy for him," said one of the twins. "A heavy Doom is upon him, binding him to his suffering, I can tell you that much. But beyond that ..."</p><p class="western">"Probably only our father can help him now. I am at a loss. But tell us everything again, Aragost. Who knows, we may have missed some detail."</p><p class="western">"I found him in Bree at the beginning of last winter. Picked up like a lost piece of clothing, I suppose, actually hits the spot. I offered him to come here with me, and he accepted. But I have to be honest: he seemed more like a dog following his master's orders. Back then he was little more than skin and bones, so it's an improvement now that my wife has been able to get him back on his feet. It's hard to believe, but I really have to make sure he eats regularly because otherwise he just forgets for days. He doesn't really take care of himself. Once I found him sitting outside in the snow at night. I think he had been sitting there for several hours and was completely hypothermic. But he didn't seem to mind. He just sat there staring at the stars. I told him the story of the stars Ellaran and Elistyar. He cried and was unresponsive for days. Just like now."</p><p class="western">"Catatonia ..."</p><p class="western">"Aragost, do you know the origins of this story?"</p><p class="western">"It is a Númenorian saga. Sagas always have a core of truth, they say, but I have never given it further thought."</p><p class="western">"Then hold on: our own father and his brother! That is the true core. A pretty story the Númenorians made up there, though Father always laughed at the idea that anyone could really think he was stealing anyone's woman. He who took a thousand seven hundred years to marry our mother."</p><p class="western">"Don't let Father hear you say that. There'll be another tirade."</p><p class="western">"Yeah yeah, shut up, brother."</p><p class="western">They lapsed into silence. Lindir continued to stare at the ceiling.</p><p class="western">"So, what are we going to do about our worry patient?" asked Aragost finally. "Oh, forgive me for burdening you with this. You have your own worries at the moment."</p><p class="western">"Oh, don't worry about us. Father will be pleased when we put Lindir under his nose. Just like when you were little. Remember the mice the cats used to catch?"</p><p class="western">"How long do I have to put up with this from you?"</p><p class="western">"Until you're old and grey and shrivelled!"</p><p class="western">"You two never grow up, do you?"</p><p class="western">"Now you sound like Father already."</p><p class="western">They laughed, but quickly found their way back to seriousness.</p><p class="western">"So: if you don't mind, we'd like to leave as soon as possible. I know you've only just returned from several weeks of travel through the wilderness, but we want to bring our father the news as soon as we can. And also to make sure Lindir gets the help he needs quickly."</p><p class="western">"And I am glad to see my family again. Aravorn was so excited last winter when he told of all he had learned."</p><p class="western">"His Quenya has improved remarkably."</p><p class="western">"Oh, that was Lindir. He seems to have a heart for children. It was really heartwarming to see how much fun he and Aravorn had together."</p><p class="western">"Lindir is old, isn't he? He taught your son an accent that is no longer spoken these days. Even with Father it rarely comes through anymore, and he really is a stubborn old Elf now, doggedly clinging to long outdated habits."</p><p class="western">"You know, Aragost, the stars everywhere ..."</p><p class="western">"Oh, it did sound a bit archaic, but I didn't worry about it there. Lindir has never spoken about himself. I don't even know his real name. But I believe he saw Valinor before its darkening."</p><p class="western">"Did he carry anything with him that might give a clue?"</p><p class="western">"Well, his harp. Oh, and his sword. But I've never asked, and I've accepted that he doesn't want to talk about himself. It seems to upset him a lot and I didn't want to hurt him further, so I never asked."</p><p class="western">"May we see the sword once?"</p><p class="western">"I don't think there's anything wrong with that. It's over there, gathering dust."</p><p class="western">Footsteps sounded. Then the sound of a sword being drawn from its scabbard. The elf inhaled sharply. "This blade, like our swords, was forged by Feanor himself."</p><p class="western">"Now I really want to know who you have found there, Aragost."</p><p class="western">Silence descended upon them.</p><p class="western">Lindir emptied his mind and gave himself over to the cries that raged within him.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">A few days later they set off. Lindir hadn't broken out of his stupor the whole time and stared into emptiness. He had only eaten when Aragost had forced it on him. He had avoided the twins where he could, but he hadn't really succeeded. They had given him no choice either.</p><p class="western">"Our father is well versed in the healing arts and taught us much of his knowledge," they said. "He will be able to help you better than we can, but we are a start."</p><p class="western">Yes, that Elrond knew much of the healing arts, Lindir believed at once. But why was he even pleased to hear it? Why couldn't he just forget again? Just be a wanderer without a name? A spirit who wandered the lands and sang his songs.</p><p class="western">Music ...</p><p class="western">Music had always saved him. Even from himself. So Lindir sang. For many days to come, it was the only thing they heard from him as they rode through the empty Northlands.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Where have you been; what have you seen</p><p class="western">Walking in rags down the street?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I come from a land, where cold was the strand,</p><p class="western">Where no men were me to greet.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">I came on a boat empty afloat.</p><p class="western">I sat me thereon; swift did it swim;</p><p class="western">Sail-less, oar-less it sped;</p><p class="western">The stony beaches faded dim.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It bore me away, wetted with spray,</p><p class="western">Wrapped in the mist, to another land;</p><p class="western">Stars were glimmering; the shore was shimmering,</p><p class="western">Moon on the foam, silver the sand.</p><p class="western">I gathered me stones whiter than bones,</p><p class="western">Pearls and crystals and glittering shells;</p><p class="western">I climbed into meadows fluttered with shadows,</p><p class="western">Culling there flowers with shivering bells,</p><p class="western">Garnering leaves and grasses in sheaves.</p><p class="western">I clad me in raiment jewel-green,</p><p class="western">My body enfolded in purple and gold;</p><p class="western">Stars were in my eyes, and the moonsheen.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">There was many a song all the night long</p><p class="western">Down in the valley, many a thing</p><p class="western">Running to and fro: hares with as snow,</p><p class="western">Voles out of holes, moths on the wing</p><p class="western">With lantern eyes. In quiet surprise</p><p class="western">Badgers were staring out of dark doors.</p><p class="western">There was dancing there, wings in the air,</p><p class="western">Feet going quick on the green floors.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">There came a dark clod. I shouted aloud;</p><p class="western">Answer was none, as onward I went.</p><p class="western">In my ears dinned a hurrying wind;</p><p class="western">My hair was a-blowing, my back was bent.</p><p class="western">I walked in a wood; silent it stood</p><p class="western">And no leaf bore; bare were the boughs.</p><p class="western">There did I sit wandering in wit;</p><p class="western">Owls went by to their hollow house.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">I journeyed away for a year and a day –</p><p class="western">Shadows were on me, stones beneath –</p><p class="western">Under the hills, over the hills,</p><p class="western">And the wind a-whistling through the heath.</p><p class="western">Birds there were flying, ceaselessly crying;</p><p class="western">Voices I heard in the grey caves</p><p class="western">Down by the shore. The water was frore,</p><p class="western">Mist was there lying on the long waves.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">There stood the boat, still did it float</p><p class="western">In the tide spinning, on the water tossing.</p><p class="western">I sat me therein; swift did it swim</p><p class="western">The waves climbing, the seas crossing,</p><p class="western">Passing old hulls clustered with gulls,</p><p class="western">And the great ships laden with light,</p><p class="western">Coming to haven dark as a raven,</p><p class="western">Silent as owl, deep in the night.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Houses were shuttered, wind round them muttered;</p><p class="western">Roads were all empty. I sat by a door</p><p class="western">In pattering rain, counting my gain:</p><p class="western">Only withering leaves and pebbles I bore;</p><p class="western">And a single shell, where I hear still the spell</p><p class="western">Echoing far, as down the street</p><p class="western">Ragged I walk. To myself I must talk,</p><p class="western">For seldom they speak, men that I meet.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He felt the twins' eyes on him. He avoided them. They were silent for the time being, but in the evening, when they were resting, they did come to talk about it.</p><p class="western">"You know, Lindir, your music reminds us of something," Elladan said - Lindir had quickly figured out how to tell them apart. It wasn't too hard. "Our father also plays the harp in a very particular way. So do you. He could only have learned it from one person ..." He left the rest unspoken.</p><p class="western">"But no, that can't be," Elrohir murmured. "The coincidence would be too great, after all."</p><p class="western">Ashamed, Lindir lowered his eyes and sang no more.</p><p class="western">They rode through the summer heat, crossing wide, lush meadows. Again Aragost stopped at every ruin he spotted along the way and paid respect to his ancestors. Elladan and Elrohir joined him. The north of Middle-earth was still empty and vast, even in summer, but at least now the eye could feast on lush greenery. It was hard to believe that a mighty empire had once flourished here. Nothing was left of it but broken stones in the tall grass.</p><p class="western">Elladan and Elrohir told him of the hidden valley and how their father's magic protected it from all evil. Lindir wondered if he would be combusted if he crossed the border into the valley. The twins did not let his sombre mood stop them and tried to entertain him with stories of their misdeeds. Occasionally Aragost would interject a remark when they were about to accuse him of another of their villainies. Lindir nodded and smiled because that was what was expected of him.</p><p class="western">Inside him the voices screamed for justice.</p><p class="western">Couldn't the twins just shut up? Did they have to talk all the time? It had been more pleasant with Aragost. They had both been able to be silent together, but the twins never seemed to be able to stand still. So different from ... from their father.</p><p class="western">Lindir consistently blocked his mind from the thought of what would lie at the end of this path. For an eternity he had fled it and then he had stumbled by chance into Bree and all had been for naught. His locks crumbled more and more and he could barely fight the decay. He was Lindir, over and over again he had to remind himself of that. It was of the utmost importance that he did.</p><p class="western">In the distance the misty mountains gradually appeared, at first still blue and veiled. But over the next few days they became clearer and clearer. The land gradually rose, first to rolling hills and then mountains as they reached the foothills.</p><p class="western">"It's not far now!" said Elladan excitedly as they crossed the bridge over the Mitheithel following the eastern road. He spurred his horse and the others followed.</p><p class="western">Lindir thought about the best way to steal away. It would be best for everyone if he simply disappeared into nothingness again. But he could not find the strength to do so and he cursed himself for it. In the morning he forced his food in under Aragost's strict watch, then he mounted his horse and suddenly it was evening again. Each time he stayed awake for a long time and found only a few, barely restful hours of sleep. But even in the dark hours of the night there was never an opportunity to get away unseen. It was almost as if Aragost and the twins suspected what he was up to. They took turns keeping watch, ostensibly to look out for nocturnal dangers, but also to keep an eye on him. He was never alone.</p><p class="western">And so it happened that a few days later they finally followed the course of the Bruinen into a well-hidden valley. Access to the valley was only via a few narrow paths, which could hardly be discovered by chance. Lindir shuddered as they crossed the river and he felt the protective magic that lay on the ford.</p><p class="western">In the distance, the lord lifted his gaze from the documents before him as he felt an all too familiar presence enter the valley. He frowned. But no, that couldn't be. He had to be imagining it. Or was he?</p><p class="western">Lindir felt helpless and trotted along behind the others with his head hanging. A small part of him admired the peace and beauty of the valley. The much larger part was rigid with fear of what would await him here.</p><p class="western">They would see who he was. No one could deceive Elrond, and least of all he. And Elrond would remember, he certainly had not forgotten all the wrongs that had been done to him. And who if not he had all the right in the world to punish Lindir for it? It would still not be a fitting punishment for the horrible things he had done, after all.</p><p class="western">Lindir emptied his mind and allowed no further thought.</p><p class="western">"Aragoþt," he said softly. "Please take my sword."</p><p class="western">It would be a mistake to let him enter the house armed, even if he did not say so. Aragost frowned questioningly, but complied. However, when Lindir also asked him to tie his hands, he refused. Lindir clawed his hands into his clothes. This was not good. Not at all. The twins had watched the proceedings in silence, but they must have had a hundred questions burning on their tongues. Questions Lindir could not answer for them.</p><p class="western">Lindir still kept his eyes down as they entered the house, and so he did not see the flaming, eight-pointed star above the door.</p><p class="western">It turned out that they were already expected, for Elrond had hardly missed the return of his sons and his former foster child Aragost. At his side, Ivorwen waited with her son to greet her husband. But whatever they had all wanted to say, the words were never spoken. Grave silence thundered in the hall when Elrond saw Lindir.</p><p class="western">Lindir raised his eyes. He remembered a little boy crying in the night because there was a storm outside. He remembered singing comforting songs to that boy and rocking him until he fell asleep again. He remembered roaming the forests of Ossiriand with this boy and his brother. He remembered wandering along the coasts of Beleriand with these children, collecting shells.</p><p class="western">That boy was no more. Now he was a lord. A king.</p><p class="western">Lindir threw himself in the dust before him. He was no longer worthy of him. He never had been.</p><p class="western">"Out! All of you!" he heard Elrond command. "No, you don't. Ceomon, Rethtulu, you stay."</p><p class="western">Lindir shivered as memories rolled over him that he had thought so carefully locked away. A brief period of happiness he should never have known. Not after all he had done. He was Lindir after all, a no-one. A ghost.</p><p class="western">Was he?</p><p class="western">"<em>Atto?</em>" whispered Elrond as he knelt before him. His voice trembled.</p><p class="western">Lindir? No. A lie.</p><p class="western">"<em>Atto.</em>" Elrond grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, forcing him to look up at him. His eyes were swimming in tears.</p><p class="western">"I told you not to call me that," Maglor whispered.</p><p class="western">"<em>Atto!</em>" With a sob, Elrond wrapped his arms around him and hugged him tightly, as if to make sure he didn't just vanish into thin air. Maglor let it happen.</p><p class="western">"Why now, <em>atto</em> ?" demanded Elrond through his tears. "Why now, when I have lost everything? Uncle Maedhros, Elros, Galad. <em>My wife.</em> This is a bad dream, it must be. In a moment I shall wake and see that you have never been here. That you're not real and my mind is just playing a cruel trick on me. It's too much. Just too much."</p><p class="western">Hesitantly, Maglor raised his arms and put them around his foster son, stroking his back comfortingly. It was all coming back. It had never been gone. The memories of a time when he had deluded himself into thinking he could be a good father. Better than Earendil. It was almost a reflex as he began to hum a soft melody that he knew had always comforted Elrond. Even in the darkest hours, when nightmares caused by the events in Arvernien had plagued him. Had he been able to put them behind him in the meantime, or were memories of Maglor's bloody outrages still tormenting him?</p><p class="western">Elrond wept unrestrainedly as he sank powerlessly into Maglor's embrace, clinging to him like a drowning man to a piece of wood. Maglor was glad to be able to offer his foster son support in this hour. And at the same time, it was all wrong. So wrong. Why did Elrond not hate him? Why had he not shouted at him? Not locked him away? Or better yet, pushed him off the highest peak in the mountains and then drove a knife through his heart to be truly certain.</p><p class="western">Instead, the mighty and wise lord of the valley wept like a small child in the arms of his lost father.</p><p class="western">Over Elrond's shoulders, Maglor saw Ceomon and Rethtulu slowly approaching. They still bore the Star of Feanor, the mark of the House they had served so faithfully for so long.</p><p class="western">"Lord?" began Ceomon hesitantly, as if he could not believe that his former master had suddenly reappeared before him just like that. "Lord, we have been looking after your little ones as best we could."</p><p class="western">"You have carried out my last order to my complete satisfaction," Maglor said quietly.</p><p class="western">"My lord." Ceomon bowed, then fell to his knees before Maglor. Rethtulu did likewise.</p><p class="western">Somehow it was comforting to see them both here. Maglor had known them all his life, they had watched him grow up and had walked with him through every storm the Feanorians had conjured up.</p><p class="western">Elrond, meanwhile, had managed to regain his composure. He straightened up again and wiped away the tears, even though more were still coming. At that moment he was no longer a lord. Maglor saw in him only the little child he had rescued from Arvernien back then.</p><p class="western">"If you want, I'll go again and we can just forget this day here," Maglor said.</p><p class="western">"No, atto. Please don't leave me. I could not bear it. Stay with me," Elrond whispered. And then ... he smiled. The person who had the highest right of all to hate Maglor smiled at him as if all the wrong had never happened.</p><p class="western">"Rethtulu, please fetch my children," Elrond requested. "It is time they met their grandfather."</p><p class="western">"And bring Aragoþt," Maglor added. "He deserves the truth."</p><p class="western">Rethtulu bowed and left. He still wore the old familiar armour that seemed to have grown on him. Some things never changed.</p><p class="western">Maglor helped Elrond to his feet, even though he felt horribly weak on his. Elrond had grown since they had last seen each other. Back then he had counted just fifty-five summers. And now ... Maglor was struck like a blow by the realisation that he had missed almost all of Elrond's life because he had been too absorbed in his own self-pity. He staggered. What an idiot he had been!</p><p class="western">Concerned, Elrond reached for his arm and eyed him. It was strange to meet him at eye level. It was not so long ago that he had grabbed him and his brother laughing and thrown them into the lake.</p><p class="western">At that moment Rethtulu returned. He was followed by Aragost and the twins, and ... Lúthien? No, not Lúthien, but her image. Actually, it was not surprising, Maglor thought to himself with a certain pride, after all, his Elrond was her father.</p><p class="western">The twins' eyes lit up, and they could hardly contain themselves.</p><p class="western">"I just don't believe it!" blurted out Elladan.</p><p class="western">"True, we've already put one and one together," Elrohir added.</p><p class="western">"But still!"</p><p class="western">"Such an unlikely twist of fate!"</p><p class="western">"Surely no one expects such a thing!"</p><p class="western">"Despite this truly strange family history!"</p><p class="western">Aragost raised his hand. "Take a breath, please, and then someone please explain to me what is going on. I don't like being chucked out on my ears after I've only just arrived."</p><p class="western">The elleth had by now stepped up to Maglor and eyed him up and down. Then a mischievous glint stole into her eyes. "May I call you grandpa?"</p><p class="western">"Arwen," Elrond admonished. "I did not raise you to be so bold."</p><p class="western">She made a long face. "It's just us here, isn't it? Family."</p><p class="western">Maglor decided it was time to relieve Aragost of his confusion. "Please forgive me for not telling you the truth, but I had ... my reasons," he said. "I am Kanafinwe Makalaure Feanárion. Now tell me: what betrayed me?"</p><p class="western">"Your music," said Elrohir, adding with a smug grin, "Grandpa."</p><p class="western">"And your sword," Elladan added.</p><p class="western">"But most of all, your music."</p><p class="western">"Only father plays like that."</p><p class="western">"And we know he learned it from you."</p><p class="western">"Besides, you recognised our swords, didn't you?"</p><p class="western">Yes, indeed he had. Once they had belonged to Amrod and Amras, but later he had given them to Elrond and Elros until Maedhros had decided to forge them swords of their own. Elrond had passed them on to his sons. Blades forged in Aman that had tasted the blood of other Elves. It seemed so unreal that Elrond had kept them as heirlooms.</p><p class="western">Aragost ran his fingers through his hair. "You ... what?" he stammered. " One does not just find a legend from ancient times in a filthy dive somewhere in the middle of nowhere!"</p><p class="western">Something about the man's indignation made Maglor smirk. "You're welcome to keep calling me Lindir if you like. It's a nicer name than many another I've been given. I don't think it would do any good anyway if my presence here became known beyond this group."</p><p class="western">There was this warm, homely feeling in his chest that he shouldn't have. He should never have come here. He should have just kept wandering along the coasts. It had been a mistake to go to Bree.</p><p class="western">Then he looked to Elrond and somehow that voice grew quieter and quieter, trying to lure him away from here.</p><p class="western">Could he perhaps allow himself a little happiness after all?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>atto - father, papa; Qu.<br/>elleth - elf-woman; Qu.</p><p>The Sea-Bell by J.R.R. Tolkien in Tom Bombadil’s Adventures.</p><p>Next chapter we'll see if Maglor can allow himself some happiness.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Last Homely House</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Maglor tries to getting used to the life in Imladris while still struggling with his past traumas.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cn eating disorder, depressive symptoms, dissociation</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">
  <span>Lindir. Maglor. The Wanderer. Who was he? He had not been sure of that for a long time. Was he the father of Elrond and Elros? Or was he a kinslayer and child robber? For hours - no, for </span>
  <span>
    <em>days</em>
  </span>
  <span> - he had lain in his bed and pondered what had happened. For millennia he had wandered lonely through the wilderness and now he stumbled by chance into Imladris and found a family he should never have had. It was wrong and at the same time it felt so right.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>He felt sick to his stomach.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>The door to his room opened and the smell of strong broth wafted in.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"</span>
  <span>
    <em>Atto</em>
  </span>
  <span>, you haven't eaten your breakfast again," Elrond admonished him. He sounded shockingly like Maedhros. He placed the tray of soup on the bedside table, then joined Maglor on the bed. A steep crease drew between his brows, speaking of his worry.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Again?" murmured Maglor. "Noon? It can't be that late."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"You are in Imladris, in my house," Elrond reminded him. "And no, this is not a dream. You've been here for five days and in those five days you've eaten just two meals."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>That was a suspicious amount, Maglor thought to himself. When had he eaten so much?</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Elrond tried to keep the worry out of his voice, but he couldn't really manage it. "If you keep this up, I'll feed you. I mean it."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>When Maglor still said nothing in response, Elrond grabbed his hand. Maglor didn't remember when or who had taken his gloves off, but now he was wearing bandages, and Elrond had applied an ointment smelling strongly of herbs to his burns. Maglor doubted it would do any good. Nevertheless, he was proud. His little Elrond had really learned a lot and ambitiously pursued his interests. When had he learned all this?</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Maglor blinked. He found it hard to keep his thoughts in the here and now. Everything was such a blur and his attention kept slipping away. One moment he was just waking up and the next it was already evening.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>When Elrond smiled, however, it seemed free of worry. "We'll patch you up all right, you'll see. Now you're here."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>For a brief moment, however, a shadow flitted across his face, and Maglor saw that he was thinking of his wife. Doubt crept into Elrond's mind, but he brushed it aside. Maglor smiled encouragingly. If getting well was what he could do for Elrond, then that was what he would do. </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>He could still read Elrond as if he were reading an open book, even if Elrond had perfected his gift for </span>
  <span>
    <em>ósanwe</em>
  </span>
  <span> over all the years and now even wore a pretty piece of jewellery that enhanced his abilities. Maglor tapped the finger on which Elrond wore the ring.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Tell me about it," he asked. This ring was something special. Had he not heard something there?</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Elrond looked at him in amazement. "You know that I wear Vilya?" he asked in wonder. </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"As if little Tyelpe could create anything to hide from his family; I recognise his handwriting." Maglor smirked.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>For some reason, Elrond seemed relieved. Then he sighed. "It's a long story. I think it is better if we wait until I tell you all that has happened since we last saw each other. Did you catch any of it?"</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Maglor averted his eyes and looked out of the window. "I hardly know what happened yesterday," he murmured.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"All the more reason for you to eat your soup now." Elrond looked at him sharply.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Ah, too bad. He had thought he could escape that.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>For a while they were silent as Maglor slowly spooned the soup. Scolded like a small child by his own son. Son? He should stop thinking of Elrond like that as soon as possible!</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>But would it really be so bad, a quiet voice whispered inside him. Elrond called him his father and, unlike before, he would not be dissuaded. And he had seen the banner Elrond had chosen for himself. It was the banner of Earendil, but with the star of the Feanorians. Maglor had wept when he had seen it. And then he had been struck by all the stars that had crept into the architecture of the house, stealthily and as if by accident, so that no one could point at them and call Elrond a Feanorian quite openly. To the world, Elrond was Earendil's son, but in his heart he had always remained a Feanorian. He had dared and mastered a daring balancing act between these two worlds.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Or was it all wishful thinking? So far they had not talked about all that had happened, and so much had changed. Perhaps these stars had no meaning at all. Or perhaps they did refer to Earendil. And of course there was this other fact…</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"You have me guarded," Maglor said quietly. "You think I'm a danger to everyone here. And you are right …"</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Elrond looked at him sternly. "No," he said. "I don't think that, and you know it. At best you are a danger to yourself, and that is why I will not let you out of my sight. Aragost told me about your escapades, your little trip in the snow, your habit of not eating ... </span>
  <span>
    <em>Atto</em>
  </span>
  <span>, these are serious warning signs. I don't want anything to happen to you. And... I don't want you sneaking off again. Don't deny it. You think about it, I see it."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Out of reflex, Maglor was about to contradict, but then he let it go. He knew better. Elrond was right.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>All at once Elrond looked uncertain. He might be the prince of the last Noldor in Middle-earth, but deep inside he was still the little boy from back then. Somehow this comforted Maglor. </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"</span>
  <span>
    <em>Atto</em>
  </span>
  <span>, please, stay. For me. Can you?" he begged. "If not for your benefit, at least for mine. For my sake, we'll call you Lindir if you insist. We will be able to fool Gildor and Erestor with that, I think, though not Glorfindel. And not Galadriel and Celeborn anyway. But it might work on the others."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Glorfindel?" Maglor frowned. "Glorfindel of Gondolin?"</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Apparently killing a Balrog wasn't enough for him," Elrond joked. "He insisted on following me. At least he doesn't call me king anymore."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>It was nothing unheard of, but still something very, very rare. Few spirits returned from Mandos. And now he was following Elrond. Maglor could not put into words how happy this made him. His little boy had really come a long way. It was more than he had ever dared to hope for.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Elrond, I am very proud of you," he said softly. </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Elrond was literally beaming. "Thank you, </span>
  <span>
    <em>atto</em>
  </span>
  <span>. For everything."</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Maglor regained consciousness as he bumped into someone. He blinked. Why was it night? Why wasn't he in his room? His mind must have snapped again, he couldn't explain otherwise why he couldn't remember the last few hours. Or was it days again?</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"What ..." the other Elf began, but then interrupted himself.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Maglor saw first the magnificent golden curls and then the light of Aman shining from this Elf. He knew immediately who he was looking at.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"You!" hissed Glorfindel, grabbing him by the collar. "What are you doing here, kinslayer? You should be dead!"</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Maglor emptied his mind and prepared to finally receive his just end. </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Why are you skulking around Imladris in the middle of the night? What business have you here? Speak!" continued Glorfindel, shaking him. Maglor let it happen. When he still did not answer, Glorfindel pushed him in the direction from which he had come, the blade of a dagger pressed menacingly into his back.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"You will come with me so that you will finally be held accountable for your crimes by my lord!" threatened Glorfindel. "Just one false move and I'll do the judging myself."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Maglor did not resist the rough treatment. In his present state he could hardly do anything against Glorfindel anyway. Perhaps he should just speed things up and plunge into the dagger himself, then Glorfindel wouldn't have to get his hands dirty …</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Energetically, Glorfindel knocked on the door to Elrond's chambers. When there was no answer, the oh-so-noble Lord of Gondolin uttered a curse that was not noble at all and dragged Maglor a few doors away. Again he knocked, harder this time.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Ceomon opened and blinked sleepily at him. Before he could say a word, Glorfindel pushed past him and into his chamber.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Lord Elrond, I must speak to you immediately!" demanded Glorfindel.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Maglor stared into space. No thoughts, just an empty mind. That was the best thing. Let whatever was to happen to him happen. </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Elrond stepped out of the adjoining room, looking even more tired than Ceomon. But when he saw Glorfindel with Maglor, he immediately woke up. And then, when he saw Glorfindel's knife at Maglor's side, anger marked his face.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Take that weapon away immediately before you do something you regret, Glorfindel!" he ordered.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"This is a wanted criminal and murderer!", Glorfindel revolted. His dagger remained where it was. "I found him skulking about the house in the dark. Who knows what he was doing here, but it can never, ever be anything good. We must lock him away."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Take. The. Weapon. Away. Now," Elrond repeated with dangerous calm. His gaze literally bored through Glorfindel as he stepped towards him and stared him down. Glorfindel managed to meet his gaze, but lowered his dagger. </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Lord, he is dangerous ...", Glorfindel began, but then interrupted himself.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"You know not what you say," said Elrond. "I will not tolerate such talk about Maglor, certainly not in my house."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"But why?" asked Glorfindel. "You know as well as I what his kind has done. Why do you protect him and not bring him to his just punishment?"</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"He received it long ago, and not at my hands. If you really must ask that, Lord Glorfindel, then you have never truly walked this house attentively." Elrond, meanwhile, had stood protectively before Maglor. Glorfindel recoiled from the intensity of his gaze. </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"The star …"</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"... is the star of my family, that is right."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Glorfindel then fell silent for quite a while. Frowning, he stared at Maglor, then looked back at Elrond. Now, at last, he put the dagger away and crossed his arms in front of his chest. </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"The Valar sent me back to Endor for a reason," he muttered. "I did not think my loyalty would ever be so sorely tested."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"I wish you a restful night, Lord," Elrond said pointedly calmly. "This is not something I wish to discuss between doorways. And certainly not at this time."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>For a moment Glorfindel seemed undecided about what to do. But then he clicked his heels together, bowed stiffly and left the room. Elrond breathed an audible sigh of relief, his shoulders slumped.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Maglor was still staring ahead of him, simply because he didn't know what else to do with himself. He was unable to make the simple decision to leave the room as well and just go. Where was he supposed to go? Putting one foot in front of the other was too much of an effort of will. </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"</span>
  <span>
    <em>Atto</em>
  </span>
  <span>?" said Elrond gently. "</span>
  <span>
    <em>Atto</em>
  </span>
  <span>, how are you?" When Maglor still did not respond, he stepped to him and gently grabbed him by the shoulders. "</span>
  <span>
    <em>Atto</em>
  </span>
  <span>, please, say something. Don't just stare at yourself like your </span>
  <span>
    <em>fea</em>
  </span>
  <span> has left your </span>
  <span>
    <em>hroa</em>
  </span>
  <span>. That ... that scares me."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Maglor blinked. "I'm fine," he muttered the old familiar lie. </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"No, that is not true," Elrond countered. He looked exhausted as he said it. Worriedly, he eyed Maglor. "You have not been yourself again, am I right? You can't remember what happened again. Talk to me about it, atto, please. Then I can help you. Then you will get better and everything will be fine."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Maglor mustered all his strength to keep his thoughts straight. It was an almost impossible task. Then he eyed Elrond. He looked tired and exhausted, deep shadows lay under his eyes and his face was haggard from too many worries. One of them was Maglor himself. After all that had happened, he had to worry about an old, broken Elf too. It was wrong, so wrong. </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Something in Maglor fell back into place. Elrond needed him now. He needed his father by his side and not another burden on his shoulders. Since Maglor had stumbled into his life, it had always been about him, not Elrond as it should have been. It was time for Maglor to pick up the pieces of himself and become the Elf he had once been.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>He took Elrond in his arms and hugged him to him. "</span>
  <span>
    <em>Onya</em>
  </span>
  <span>," he whispered. "Sleep now and do not worry about me. I promise you, everything will be all right."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Elrond sighed.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>For that night Maglor let Elrond sleep in his bed. Gone were the days when little Elrond would come trudging to him because he had once again been plagued by a nightmare. Nevertheless, they snuggled together in the bed and Maglor held him and sang songs softly to him until he fell asleep and for a long time afterwards. Even though it was cramped in the bed, Maglor slept better than he had in far too long.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Still, he was awake again after only a few hours and could no longer find sleep. He slipped out of bed to watch the dawn begin to break and let Elrond sleep as long as he wanted. His little boy needed it.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>When Elrond finally did wake, it was already approaching noon. Maglor was still sitting in the window ledge, watching the goings-on in Imladris.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Good morning, little sleepyhead," Maglor wished teasingly. That had not changed either, Elrond had always been a late sleeper.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Elrond rubbed his eyes. "Let last night have been a nightmare, please."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"I fear it was not."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Elrond stared silently at the ceiling.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"</span>
  <span>
    <em>Onya</em>
  </span>
  <span>, while you were still asleep, I had plenty of time to think," Maglor opened. "It is time you told me all that has happened since we last saw each other. I have been criminally neglectful of my duties as a father, and there is nothing to excuse that. But now it is time for me to do better."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Father ..." murmured Elrond. "You used to forbid us to call you that."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"I used to be a rather foolish Elf too, thinking it best for everyone to leave the most precious thing I've ever had in my life behind to chase stones on my own."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"</span>
  <span>
    <em>Atto</em>
  </span>
  <span>..." tears came to Elrond's eyes.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>With a smile, Maglor joined him at the bedside and stroked his hair. "But that is the past. Now I am here."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Elrond snuggled into his arms. "It feels good to be held like this again. Just as it was then. Just being able to forget all that has happened since then."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Believe me, it's better to remember," Maglor murmured. "I tried to forget myself and look where it got me." But then he shook off that thought and turned his attention back to his son. "Tell me, why did you sleep with Ceomon? And why did Glorfindel know?"</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Because everyone knows," Elrond said blankly. "Because everyone knows how I failed. How I had failed to save her. Because it is simply unbearable to wake up in the morning and be alone."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Maglor saw the burden that rested on Elrond's shoulders, and it was enormous. But what good did it do them if Maglor only continued to berate himself for leaving Elrond alone with all this. Now he was here and that was all that mattered.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Tell me about it," he begged.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ósanwe - thought exchange, telepathy; Qu.<br/>Endor - Middle Earth; Qu.<br/>fea - spirit; Qu.<br/>hroa - body; Qu.<br/>onya - my child/son; Qu.</p><p> </p><p>Next chapter we have a wrap up of some history</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Relics of a time long gone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Elrond gives Maglor a tour through Rivendell and tells him of all that happend since they parted.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CN Mention of death of loved ones, mention of suicidal thoughts and self-harming behaviour, mention of rape (why is Elrond's life only like this! D: )<br/>I also realized that Aragost has a s in his name meaning that I should have written Aragoþt all the time, when Maglor says his name. I changed that in the previous chapters.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">
  <span>Later in the day they found themselves in the gallery. Elrond, in the meantime, had taken care of Glorfindel and emphasised very clearly that he wished Maglor to be treated with all due respect. As well as that he remain Lindir to the public. At least on that they all agreed that it was better if no one learned who Lindir really was.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Thoughtfully, Maglor looked at the crown that lay on a pedestal in front of him. Also displayed here were Gil-galad's armour and his spear Aeglos, as well as his banner. Maglor remembered too well the day when that very crown had been brought to him. He had refused it, refused to acknowledge that his brother was dead. </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"So Gil-galad is dead," he said at last. "Without heirs, it seems. Telerinquar has no right to that inheritance; my brother saw to that long ago. Only you remain, Elrond, for you are descended in direct line from my cousin Turukáno. So why do you not call yourself High King?"</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"All in good time," said Elrond. "I told you it was a long story.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>You must know: Elros and I had suspected what you were up to for some time, but we had hoped you would stay. A foolish hope, I know. And then... you just disappeared. We knew immediately where you had gone and had followed you. Please don't be too mad at Ceomon and Rethtulu for that, okay? We snuck away from them knowing full well that they would hold us back."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Quite involuntarily, Maglor had to grin. "Then Ceomon did not fulfil my last order to my complete satisfaction after all. That he would allow himself such a misstep, well, that's something."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Elrond nudged him in the side. "Be nice, I said." Then he continued, now again in a more serious tone. "We followed you north, where the army of the West was still encamped. By that time the land was beginning to break apart, and we knew that time was running out. However, when we reached our destination, we found the camp in turmoil. It turned out that we were too late and you had already fled. Eonwe ... somehow knew what had happened to you, though he omitted the details. You threw your </span>
  <span>
    <em>silmaril</em>
  </span>
  <span> into the sea and Uncle Maedhros, he ... he ... "</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Maglor stared at his burnt hands. It was the last thing he could remember clearly. After that ... nothing. Only pain and bitterness. </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"I don't want to burden you with this," he said softly.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"But you must tell me. I need to know," Elrond pleaded. "How did Uncle Maedhros die?"</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Maglor pushed the feelings far away. "He held his </span>
  <span>
    <em>þilmaril</em>
  </span>
  <span> in his hand, protectively, as if to make sure he would not let it go again. Then he looked me in the eye and said he was sorry. And then ... he jumped into a chasm, the </span>
  <span>
    <em>þilmaril</em>
  </span>
  <span> still pressed against him. That was how Nelyafinwe Maitimo Ruþþandol died. He threw his life away and left me alone. The last of my house …"</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Elrond was silent for quite a while.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Maglor stared at the ground, avoiding his gaze. "I should have been there for you, been strong for you. But I wasn't. The </span>
  <span>
    <em>þilmaril</em>
  </span>
  <span> burned in my hands and I knew then that all was truly lost. I threw it away and with it my life. From then on I wandered along the coasts with nothing left but my music. I wanted to forget myself and for an awfully long time I succeeded."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Until Aragost found you in Bree."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"I should have been there for you …"</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Do not regret what happened," Elrond said firmly, grasping his hand. "It can't be helped anyway. What you have suffered, no one should have to suffer. All that matters is that you are with me again now."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Maglor was silent on that.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"We searched for you," Elrond continued in his narrative. "For many, many years. I believe it is thanks to us that much of the North is mapped. We even found Himring, which of course is now an island."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"So?" Maglor raised a brow. "Another time you must be sure to tell me all the adventures you have had."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Elrond smiled to himself. "On one of them we found a small settlement, which in later times would become Annúminas, but at that time consisted only of a few simple houses and a tavern. These people were refugees like everyone else at that time who had escaped the fall of Beleriand and had started a new life there. The innkeeper's daughter was Lómelinde and came from the house of Hador. And Elros, well ... he fell in love with her!"</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Maglor's eyes grew wide. "You must tell me all about her! When did they marry? Do they have children? That is ... I have more grandchildren. Oh!"</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Lómelinde loved brewing and everyone swore by her beer. I must admit that I never liked beer much, but hers was quite acceptable. She still brewed beer occasionally even when she had a kingdom to rule. They married in the thirty-second year of the Second Age. In the same year Elros went to Númenor."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>All at once Elrond sounded crestfallen. An old wound, never well healed and scarred. To speak of it brought back the old pain.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"The Valar lifted an island from the Belegaer to the Edain and gave it to them as a reward for their labours in the fight against Morgoth. Elros was their king."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>King ... Maglor's tears came with pride. That his little Elros had made it this far. King. King of the ... Edain.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Elrond, where is your brother now?" he asked. All at once fear gripped his heart. Actually, he did not want to know the answer to that. Then he could go on living the illusion.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"You know, </span>
  <span>
    <em>atto</em>
  </span>
  <span>," Elrond whispered. "Do not make me speak it."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Dead. Died the death of mortals. Lost forever.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>How fortunate that Maglor had broken into countless tiny splinters thousands of years ago.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"How?" he breathed.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"In my arms on our five hundredth birthday. I was with him until the end. And after that ... I can gauge how you must have felt when you saw Uncle Maedhros jump. Galad had to save me from myself more than once." Lost in thought, Elrond rubbed his wrists.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"</span>
  <span>
    <em>Ai! Apþene úcarenya!</em>
  </span>
  <span>" Maglor pulled Elrond into his arms.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"There is nothing to forgive, </span>
  <span>
    <em>atto</em>
  </span>
  <span>," Elrond murmured. "You have no blame upon you. If then it was those who imposed this choice upon us. When we stood before Eonwe then, he told us that we had to choose which fate we felt we belonged to. Elros chose ... differently from me. I pleaded and begged, but it was irrevocable. </span>
  <span>
    <em>Apþene loitië, atar.</em>
  </span>
  <span> I let my brother die."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"No, </span>
  <span>
    <em>onya</em>
  </span>
  <span>, you did not. There is no cure for mortality."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>For a while they stood in silence, arm in arm, and Maglor stroked Elrond's hair.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Come," Elrond said at last. "I want to show you something else."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>He led Maglor a little way down the gallery and stopped in front of a statue. It showed Elros with a winged crown on his head and a stately pose. Maglor could well imagine his little boy proudly overlooking his kingdom. He wished he could have told him how proud he was of him. He sighed.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>In front of the statue was a pedestal on which lay Raumomacil, the twin blade to Elrond's own sword Nahtanar. Maedhros had forged the blades for them once, after deciding that they had better have swords of their own in addition to Amrod's and Amras' blades. Somehow, in the end, it all stayed in the family.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Unlike Narsil and Aranrúth, Elros wanted me to have Raumomacil and it not become an heir to his house," Elrond said. </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Something else was on display here, a white star-shaped jewel, a sceptre as well as Finrod's ring. How interesting.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"And these things?" Maglor wanted to know, pointing to them.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"The sceptre of Annúminas, a replica of Elendilmir as well as Barahir's ring. Together with the fragments of Narsil, the heirlooms of the Northern Kingdom. You have already met its heritage."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Aragoþt. That's a long time since then. Much must have happened."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Elrond nodded. "A great deal, and not all has been good. The hereditary line of Númenor split into two lines, the Northern and the Southern Kingdom. Both are now but shadows of their former selves. Elros' crown is kept in Gondor, but no king sits on the throne in Minas Tirith any more.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Elros had four children. Vardamir Nólimon was the eldest. My favourite nephew, I must admit. As a child he was a terrible bundle of energy and only had nonsense in his head. But later he became interested in the sciences and I have hardly ever met such an intelligent mind again. Then there was Tindómiel, who took after her mother, and Manwendil and Atanalcar. They founded the dynasty of the kings and lords of Númenor, and from them are also descended the kings of Gondor and Arnor, as well as the Stewards in Minas Tirith and the chieftains of the Dúnedain of the North."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Then Elroþ is not lost," Maglor said. "Then something of him still lives on in this world."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"But at what cost ..." Elrond sighed. "After his death I never set foot on Númenor again. I can tell you little more about the downfall than what Elendil wrote in his Akallabêth. The original is kept in my library, Erestor guards it like a dragon guards his treasure.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>But I am jumping ahead. At the very beginning of the Second Age, even before Elros went to Númenor, Gil-galad took us in. He escaped with many of his people across the Ered Luin, and afterwards had made great efforts to find all those who had been lost in the flight. Most of us had little more than what we wore, and we found ourselves with the seemingly impossible task of creating something new from nothing. It turned out, however, that large parts of Ossiriand had remained intact - including, incidentally, the Amon Ereb - and Gil-galad decided to establish his empire there.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Elros and I stood out like a sore thumb. We had just appeared out of nowhere, after many had believed us dead. Apparently word hadn't got around to everyone about what was happening after Arvernien at the time. So here we were, the sons of Earendil with the Star of Feanor on our clothes."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Why did you do this, Elrond? That cursed Oath doomed my House, and I had never meant to bring you into it. I wanted to protect you from it."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Because this is our family, plain and simple. It was you who called us Elenyafinwe. There was tension, of course, and some Elves formed a hard front against us, but Gil-galad supported us. He felt he could not treat Earendil's sons as common subjects, so he gave us a place in his young kingdom when he named us lords of Amon Ereb."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Maglor almost laughed out loud.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Elrond, too, had to grin. "He had more such mad ideas. I kept the title to this day, simply because it would have been too much paperwork to change anything about it. We rarely returned there anyway and had a steward who administered this patch of land for us. Gil-galad also felt he had to appoint me his </span>
  <span>
    <em>arandur</em>
  </span>
  <span>, and soon after raised me to </span>
  <span>
    <em>tíriloþt</em>
  </span>
  <span> and entrusted me with his </span>
  <span>
    <em>eþþeali</em>
  </span>
  <span>."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Maglor put his hands on Elrond's shoulders. "You cannot begin to measure how proud it makes me to hear this. We gave you the best training we could, but I had never dared to hope that you would ever actually use what you had learned. And now you tell me that your brother was a king and you were a close confidant of the High King. My little boys have come so far. That is so much more than I could ever have dreamed of."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"That's just the beginning of the story. We built the realm and Gil-galad was able to consolidate his reign. Celebrimbor, by the way, was also with us, even if he was occasionally ... a little difficult. I studied with Palandíriël, Gil-galad's physician, and she taught me many things about healing. Do you remember how I wheedled every bit of knowledge Lindwain possessed out of him? Palandíriël knew so much more and it was just a wonderful time.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Celebrimbor eventually went to Eregion and founded the Gwaith-i-Mírdain there. He became good friends with the dwarves of Moria, and his guild was widely known and respected."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Maglor smiled bitterly. It had been hard for them all when his nephew had broken away from them, but eventually it had been foreseeable that it would come to this. Maglor himself had been horrified by what Celegorm and Curufin had done. It had gone too far. </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"We spoke sometimes of you and your brothers," Elrond continued. "Celebrimbor regretted that it had all come to this. In his heart he had remained a Feanorian until the end, and he called me his little cousin."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Until ... the end?"</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Elrond avoided his gaze. "He was deceived. As we all were. In 1200 an 'ambassador of the Valar' came to us in Lindon, calling himself Annatar. Neither Gil-galad nor I trusted him, but we could not tell who he was. When he saw that he could not use us for his plans, he went to Eregion and had more success with Celebrimbor. He taught him many secret arts and eventually how to forge rings of power."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>He stepped back, clasped his hands behind his back and then recited:</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them,</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>"It was Sauron who had come to Eregion, but by the time we realised it, it was too late," Elrond continued. "At least Celebrimbor had never fully trusted Annatar and forged the Three in secret; they had never been defiled by the enemy. But then Sauron had gone to Mordor and forged the One in secret, his Master Ring, and then we knew we had been betrayed. We hid the Three from him, and Gil-galad gave me Vilya and sent me to Eregion as his </span>
  <span>
    <em>tercáno</em>
  </span>
  <span>. But all I could do was to draw out the inevitable. </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Ost-in-Edhil was brought down and Celebrimbor fell in defence of his forges. He took his secrets with him."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Maglor lowered his gaze. Yes, it had hurt that Celebrimbor had turned his back on them, but he had always consoled himself with the thought that this way he would not be dragged into the fate that the Feanorians themselves had conjured. He had hoped it would never come to that.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"How did he die? Did you see it happen? Please, tell me, don't leave anything out."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"I ... Yes, I did." Elrond shuddered. "Sauron tortured him, skinned him and strung him up to carry him before his army like a banner. At that point he was still alive, kept alive by Sauron's corrupted magic. I shot an arrow through his heart to redeem him.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>By then, Sauron had crushed my armies and forced us to flee. We fled north, into this valley. One of my scouts found it, as if by chance, and I recognised its strategic value. We fled here and immediately began fortifying. For a while we escaped Sauron, Vilya was of great help to me. But still we were besieged. That was a bad year, I thought we would all starve here. But then, on </span>
  <span>
    <em>yestare</em>
  </span>
  <span> of the year 1700, I was awakened by the sound of silver trumpets and saw Gil-galad's banner unfurling in the valley. He had come with Ciryatur and defeated Sauron for good. Gil-galad recognised the strategic location of Rivendell, entrusted Vilya to me permanently and appointed me his vice-regent here in Eregion."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Maglor nodded appreciatively. "That it had to come to such a terrible end with Tyelpe. But I thank you for what you did for him. And ... I cannot do more than repeat to myself how proud I am of you, I fear."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Elrond smiled wanly. "Eregion was only the beginning, I'm afraid. We knew of the One, but we did not yet fully understand his power. Much would have been different had we done so. After the fall of Númenor, Elendil and his heirs came to Middle-earth and founded the kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor. Elendil made an alliance with Gil-galad to defeat Sauron once and for all."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"What happened in Númenor?" inquired Maglor.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"My brother's life's work, ruined by tyrants and despots." Elrond clenched his hands into fists and a shadow settled on his face. "Sauron, who else, had a hand in it. Please, I do not wish to speak of it in detail. Elendil's report sums it up well."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Maglor nodded. "And this alliance? How did that turn out?"</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"We went to Mordor, to the land of the enemy, and besieged him at his own gates. Come." Elrond led him a little way away again to another exhibit in his collection. It was the fragments of a sword that looked all too familiar to Maglor.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Narþil."</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Elrond nodded. "Rivendell is a house of remembering and reflection. That is why I keep all these things until perhaps one day someone worthy to wear Elros' crown will step forth.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>The siege lasted seven terrible years and we lost much. First, Oropher and Amdír died when they rashly attacked even before Gil-galad gave the order. Thranduil is king in Mirkwood now, do you remember him?"</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"How could I forget that pompous show-off? There's really no shame in Oropher." And yet he had spared him back in Doriath when he had stood protectively before his son. He had nothing to oppose the swords of the Noldor and yet he had been prepared to sacrifice his life to protect Thranduil. Maglor had let him go. </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>"Anárion, Elendil's younger son, died in the sixth year of the siege, and for him it was a pity," Elrond continued. "By then I thought that none of us would ever leave Mordor alive again. Six years of nothing but ashes and fire. Day in and day out I gave orders that cost others their lives. It was unbearable."</span>
</p><p class="western">"I never wanted you to learn how to fight," Maglor said regretfully. "But I suppose it had to be done. I am sorry you had to experience such things. I had hoped you would never have to experience what war is like."</p><p class="western">"I had good teachers. The best. Uncle Maedhros's sword and armour always protected me well."</p><p class="western">Maglor smiled sadly. "He was going to give you the armour after we returned."</p><p class="western">"We found them anyway when we returned home. In the forge where Uncle Maedhros had left them. It was always very comforting to have a part of him with me in that way. To feel protected by him."</p><p class="western">"But now I'm here to protect you." With a smirk, Maglor added, "Even if you are a big boy now." Then he pointed to the sword. "Continue."</p><p class="western">Elrond was silent at first as he looked at the blade. "My friend died," he said quietly. "Many comrades died in this war, too many. But the worst loss was Gil-galad's."</p><p class="western">He intoned a soft melody.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Gil-galad was an Elven-king.</p><p class="western">Of him the harpers sadly sing;</p><p class="western">the last whose realm was fair and free</p><p class="western">between the Mountains and the Sea.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">His sword was long, his lance was keen.</p><p class="western">His shining helm afar was seen;</p><p class="western">the countless stars of heaven's field</p><p class="western">were mirrored in his silver shield.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">But long ago he rode away,</p><p class="western">and where he dwelleth none can say;</p><p class="western">for into darkness fell his star</p><p class="western">in Mordor where the shadows are.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Maglor immediately recognised that Elrond had written this song, simply because it was so much like his own compositions. Elrond and Elros had been such eager students.</p><p class="western">"In a final onslaught, we challenged Sauron," Elrond continued, lifting the hilt of Narsil. "Do you remember what Gil-galad said about that? That Elwing wanted Elros to have this sword, even if he did not know why. I think I know her reason now. It was this blade that cut the Ring from Sauron's finger. Elendil died with Gil-galad when they attacked Sauron together. In the process, Narsil broke beneath him. Isildur, his son, seized the hilt and threw Sauron down.</p><p class="western">Sauron's power is bound to this ring, I know that now. But at that time ... At that time I still did not really understand the connections, and moreover I mourned for Gil-galad. Isildur took the ring instead of listening to my advice to destroy it. I should have pressed him more.</p><p class="western">Isildur died in the Disaster of the Gladden Fields. Orcs were ambushing him. He used the Ring to escape, but it betrayed him and so the orcs discovered him and shot him."</p><p class="western">"And the Ring? Does the enemy have it?"</p><p class="western">"No, fortunately not. It was lost in the floods of the Anduin and no one knows what became of it."</p><p class="western">Maglor was not really reassured by this news, however. He understood at least enough of this whole business to suspect that Sauron must never get the Ring again.</p><p class="western">"I regret what has happened, but I think Findekáno would be proud to hear what has become of his son. And that you stood by his side until the end, <em>onya</em>. But now tell me, why does no one wear the crown of the High King any more?"</p><p class="western">"Whom should I rule anyway, <em>atto</em>?" said Elrond. "Lindon was Gil-galad's regency, not mine. I merely lent him a helping hand. The Eldar are dwindling from Middle-earth, more and more ships are setting sail from Mithlond, their sails alone to the West. This is the age of the Edain, and their time will come. But ours is at an end. Those who did not go to Círdan or even to the West after the war went with me. But they were few. This here is the last realm of the Noldor in Middle-earth, and yes, I am their king in all but name. But I just don't want to call myself that.</p><p class="western">I never went back to Amon Ereb because the house there was full of ghosts of the past. And now here I am, in another house full of ghosts. It's almost as if I'm destined to remain as a relic of a time long gone, preserving the memories of all that was and is now lost."</p><p class="western">"You still have not spoken of your children," Maglor remarked, trying to take Elrond's mind off things. "I know now of Lómelinde, yet you still have not told me of your wife. Who is Celebrían?"</p><p class="western">Elrond had to smirk. "Celeborn and Galadriel's daughter."</p><p class="western">Maglor looked at him wide-eyed. "Artaniþ? I've always thought it a bit peculiar that she took a fancy to that Sinda prince. But if Celebrían is anything like her mother, she's certainly kept you properly on your toes."</p><p class="western">Elrond laughed. "Oh yes, she has! She is an incredible woman. Come, I'll show her to you."</p><p class="western">This time he led Maglor to a mural. He recognised Maedhros' style, which could only mean that Elrond had painted it; he had learned it from Maedhros. The painting showed an Elf with silver hair and an unmistakable resemblance to Galadriel, but also to Arwen. Elrond's gaze became gentle as he looked at the picture.</p><p class="western">"She just stumbled into my life," he said. "Shortly after Imladris was founded, she came here with her mother in search of her father. Celeborn had fought side by side with me in Eregion, and I think for that reason alone he had later allowed me to marry his daughter; you know, the accent."</p><p class="western">Maglor had to smile. "How exactly did she 'stumble' into your life?"</p><p class="western">"She just stood there in my herb garden. I fell in love with her from the first moment I saw her."</p><p class="western">Elrond seemed so happy when he spoke of her. He had suffered so much, lost so much, but despite it all, he had been granted this happiness. And then Galadriel's daughter too! A queen worthy of him.</p><p class="western">"When did you marry?" he wanted to know.</p><p class="western">Elrond cleared his throat sheepishly. "Early in this age ..."</p><p class="western">Maglor had to grin. "That's half an age later."</p><p class="western">"Have you ever met Celeborn?" cried Elrond. "He is terrible when it comes to his daughter. Only the best for her! I thought he'd rip my head off when I asked for his precious daughter's hand in marriage. Worse than Galadriel, and she has this terrible habit of poking around in other people's heads."</p><p class="western">"Which of course you don't do at all, I raised you too well for that," Maglor teased. "You stood up to Þauron and then you cower before a Þinda? I didn't expect that."</p><p class="western">Elrond acted offended. "Then you have never met Celeborn."</p><p class="western">"Yes, I have. In Doriath ..."</p><p class="western">Elrond said nothing in reply. Maglor silently cursed himself. Now, once again, he had ruined everything.</p><p class="western">"Forgive me," he murmured. "I do not wish to burden you with my bitterness. Please tell me more about Celebrían."</p><p class="western">"She loves winter, which is why we married on a winter's day," Elrond began. "But also the <em>mellyrn</em> of her home and the stars. Unfortunately, we never managed to grow a <em>mallorn</em> in the valley, but she often travelled to Lórien to visit her mother for that. Besides, I have a suspicion that she loves my music more than me, which is not quite fair."</p><p class="western">"But why?" wondered Maglor. "You have learnt from <em>me</em>. Anyone who does not appreciate that is a philistine and does not know how to value good art."</p><p class="western">Elrond laughed softly. "That is how I know you, <em>atto</em>. It is good to have you back."</p><p class="western">"At least your wife has taste. Artaniþ had never forgiven our father for asking her for a strand of her hair. In doing so, he had really humiliated himself by begging her for it."</p><p class="western">"I have been guilty of terrible songs ever since I first saw Celebrían in my garden back then. Daeron's songs for Lúthien are nothing compared to this. I have behaved like a fool. I think Celebrían knew how I felt about her long before I said anything, but took a devilish delight in making me squirm."</p><p class="western">"I want to hear all those songs, you know that, <em>onya</em>."</p><p class="western">"<em>Atto</em>, no. Please don't. Don't do this to me."</p><p class="western">"But I do need to know how far you have progressed artistically. That is of the utmost importance."</p><p class="western">"<em>Atto, please.</em>"</p><p class="western">"Am I your father or not?"</p><p class="western">Elrond squirmed and made a pitiful sound. Then he had to laugh anyway. Maglor joined in.</p><p class="western">"Celebrían was the sunshine of my life," Elrond continued when they had wiped the tears of laughter from their eyes. "She loved to laugh and always saw the good in everything. The twins got their mischievous ways from her. Beware of their jokes. And don't be fooled by Arwen's innocent look. She is little better."</p><p class="western">"Elrond, tell me, what happened last year?" asked Maglor earnestly. "A shadow lies over this house, and everyone avoids speaking of it. From what could you not save her?"</p><p class="western">"<em>Atto</em>, I ..." Elrond shuddered. As he continued, his voice trembled, "She was going to see her mother, as she so often does. There were reports that orcs were on the rise again, so at first I was worried about letting her go, but then I did. If only I had listened to my intuition ... The escort I gave her was ambushed, and Celebrían ... She was captured. These creatures did unspeakable things to her ... defiled her and ..."</p><p class="western">His voice failed. Wordlessly, Maglor pulled him into his arms and let him cry it out. His heart wept with him. Did everything good in Elrond's life have to be taken from him again? What had he done to deserve this?</p><p class="western">"Everything will be all right," he murmured more to himself than to Elrond. "Everything will be all right in the end."</p><p class="western">"<em>Atto</em>, you don't understand. <em>I</em> couldn't help her. What happened to her broke her in such a way that not even I could put her back together. They call me a Wise One and the greatest healer of this Age. But not even <em>I </em>could help her anymore! I have <em>failed</em>. Do you understand? She sailed to the West, but I don't know if she will really find the healing she hopes for ..."</p><p class="western">Maglor grabbed his face, forcing him to look to him. "Elrond, look into my eyes and tell me what you see there."</p><p class="western">"Light ..."</p><p class="western">"The light of the Old World. The light of the Two Trees. You must believe me when I tell you that all will be well. Aman is the realm of the Valar, and if they have even a shred of justice in them, they must help Celebrían. You don't deserve to suffer so much, and they certainly don't. If the Valar must punish one, then it shall be me. But not you, not your family."</p><p class="western">"<em>Atto</em>, I am afraid," Elrond whispered through his tears. "Everything I hold dear will eventually be taken from me. Now I fear the same will happen to my children, that something will happen to them and I will lose them forever. Or you."</p><p class="western">Maglor wrapped him tightly in his arms. "I will protect you with everything I have. I swear it."</p><p class="western">Elrond shuddered.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ai! Apþene úcarenya! - Alas! Forgive me my fault; Qu.; Tolkien had once translated the Lord's Prayer into Quenya, in which the line "ámen apsene úcaremmar" is found. It should also be noted that Maglor uses the Thorn sound, the accent that was so characteristic of the Feanorians.<br/>Apþene loitie, atar - Forgive my failure, father; Qu.; Elrond, of course, speaks the same accent.<br/>Elenyafinwe - Finwe belonging to the stars or Star-Finwe; Qu., the name com es Form JazzTheBard<br/>arandur - King's servant, minister; the official title of stewards of Gondor, but when I was looking for an equivalent for a Roman senator I found it very appropriate, so that is now also the title for Gil-galad's adviser; Qu.<br/>tírilost - guard of the city, synonymous with the Roman city prefect; contains tírila - guarding; he who guards; PPA v. tír- - guard, a specially created Elvish synonym for the Roman prefect, as well as -ost (from osta) - city, walled place, fortress; Qu.<br/>esseali - collective of essea, first or primary, synonymous with the Roman praetorians; Qu.<br/>Palandíriël - looking far, consisting of palan (far) the PPA of tir- (to look), S.<br/>Lindwain - young singing; S.<br/>Raumomacil - storm blade; Qu.<br/>Nahtanar - firebite; Qu.<br/>tercáno - herald; Qu.</p><p>Ringverse by J.R.R. Tolkien in The Lord of the Rings.<br/>The Fall of Gil-galad by J.R.R. Tolkien in The Lord of the Rings.</p><p>A chapter full of headcanon, some of which I have written out. Much of what plays a role at the end of the FA comes from my Longfic <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/13021938/chapters/29781987">Childhood memories</a> (or will play a role there towards the end). Elros' death comes from the OS <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25012480">Until our last breath</a>. I am currently writing an OS about the time immediately after Elros' death. I wrote about how Elrond and Elros became lords of Amon Ereb in <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27827905">Ghosts of the past</a>. I am currently writing about Elrond's career in Gil-galad's realm and especially how the war in Eregion came about in another longfic, which I have not yet published, working title is Shadows in the East (aka Ohta 2.0). I have also written an OS about the founding of Rivendell, but it will become part of Ohta 2.0 later: <a href="https://storyhub.de/fanfictions/b%C3%BCcher/der-herr-der-ringe/yestare">Yestare</a> (that's not translated yet). I wrote about Gil-galad's death in <a href="https://storyhub.de/fanfictions/b%C3%BCcher/der-herr-der-ringe/brenne%21">Brenne!</a> (haven't translated that) but I'm working on a revised version there too (which I fear will get out of hand like this text) and about the Last Alliance in general in <a href="https://storyhub.de/fanfictions/b%C3%BCcher/der-herr-der-ringe/mordors-schatten">Mordors Schatten</a> (also not translated yet). I have also written a lot about Elrond and Celebrían: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27525004/chapters/67312132">All the little things</a> (shortly after the wedding) or <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25098154">The Lord of Imladris</a> (they meet for the first time) for example. About Celebrían's end I wrote <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27101023/chapters/66176092">Bitter cold</a>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The harpist</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Maglor visits the library of Rivendell and gets to know his grandchildren.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Merry Christmas to everyone! And thanks for the great response to this spontaneous idea *-* I finished the text yesterday, woop woop!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Maglor opened a door to his past.</p><p class="western">The familiar scent of old books hit him as he entered the library. How long had he not been able to enjoy it? He did not know. Hesitantly, he walked through the door and looked around. Close to the door was a counter behind which sat an elf, who must have been the librarian. He was writing something in a book, but when Maglor entered, he raised his head.</p><p class="western">"Can I help you?" he wanted to know.</p><p class="western">Maglor stepped up to the counter. "I was told I would find something here about the history of Númenor."</p><p class="western">The elf eyed him up and down. "You are the newcomer?"</p><p class="western">Maglor nodded. "Lindir is my name."</p><p class="western">"Good, Lindir, then let me tell you this: I am Erestor, and though this library belongs to Lord Elrond, it is my realm. Now follow me."</p><p class="western">Maglor smirked as he followed Erestor. Like a dragon his hoard, Elrond had not exaggerated. Erestor led him purposefully along among the shelves, but after only a quick glance Maglor saw that this library was indeed stocked with some precious works. Quite a few of them looked familiar to him. He had once rescued them from the flames of Doriath and Arvernien. Then he looked more closely and realised that they were copies. Did the originals still exist?</p><p class="western">Finally, Erestor stopped in front of a particular shelf. "Here you go. No borrowing, just reference use. If you need ink and parchment, you'll have to bring your own."</p><p class="western">"Thank you."</p><p class="western">Erestor left him alone, and Maglor turned to the books. He looked at the titles and finally chose a handful of books that sounded promising. None of them were the Akallabêth that Elrond had mentioned, but this one was probably too precious to just put on a shelf anyway.</p><p class="western">With the books under his arm, Maglor sat down in an alcove near a window and began to read. He had a lot of catching up to do, in this short time Elrond had never, ever been able to give him a full account of all the things that had happened since then. Besides, he had important things to do himself.</p><p class="western">Maglor began, of course, with an enumeration of the kings of Númenor. With a bittersweet smile he stroked the pages. Tar-Minyatur was written there at the top in ornate letters. His little Elros. Never again would he be allowed to see him, never again be able to laugh with him and sing him to sleep. All he had left was a dry report in a dusty history book.</p><p class="western">Then he shook off these thoughts and began to read.</p><p class="western">At some point the silence of the library was broken when the door opened and Arwen entered. Instead of going to the shelves, however, she stepped up to the counter and engaged Erestor in conversation.</p><p class="western">"Hello, Erestor," she greeted him.</p><p class="western">"Mistress, it is always a pleasure to see you here," he replied. "Does your father send you to learn?"</p><p class="western">She chuckled. "Erestor, you forget that I am no longer a little girl."</p><p class="western">"Of course."</p><p class="western">Maglor smirked to himself and returned his attention to his book. Then he noticed that there was someone else in the library, clearly eager to sneak up on him. He sat quietly and did not give in to the fact that he had spotted Elladan and Elrohir. The two were light on their feet and clearly skilled at sneaking up on their victims, but it wasn't enough for Maglor. He sensed their gloating but still did not stir as they slipped something into the pocket of his cloak.</p><p class="western">"I do hope you get that poor frog back to his friends soon," he said dryly as they were about to sneak away again.</p><p class="western">"Frog? What frog?" asked Elladan innocently.</p><p class="western">"I don't know of any frog. You, brother?"</p><p class="western">"No, I know absolutely nothing of what Grandfather is talking about."</p><p class="western">Now at last Maglor turned to them, a smile on his lips. "It takes something more to fool me."</p><p class="western">"Glad to see you too, Grandfather," Elrohir affirmed, obviously a little thrown by the fact that Maglor had caught them out so easily.</p><p class="western">"And yes, we will bring the frog back," Elladan promised.</p><p class="western">"But don't even think of playing the 'I am my brother' game with me," Maglor warned them teasingly. "Both your father and his brother tried that with me, as well as my youngest brothers. None of them succeeded."</p><p class="western">"We would never dream of it. Wouldn't we, Elladan?" affirmed Elladan.</p><p class="western">"Absolutely not, Elrohir! Never!" added Elrohir.</p><p class="western">Of course, they tried anyway. Maglor smirked. "What did I just say?"</p><p class="western">The twins sulked. "That's mean," Elrohir protested. "Hardly anyone can tell us apart, and those who can are mostly related to us. How do you do it?"</p><p class="western">"Practice," was Maglor's simple reply. "Tell me, what brings you here? Surely not just to put a frog in my pocket?"</p><p class="western">Elladan grinned. "You're a tough nut to crack, Grandfather. Good! Then it will only be all the more fun."</p><p class="western">Elrohir nodded. "Father sent us," he then answered Maglor's question. "He said to give you this. Also, we wanted to tell you that we're glad you seem to be feeling better."</p><p class="western">He handed Maglor a carafe and a goblet. In the carafe was a clear liquid smelling of honey with the faintest hint of alcohol.</p><p class="western">"<em>Miruvórë</em>," he stated in amazement.</p><p class="western">"No, <em>miruvor</em>," Elladan said. "But Father says he had the wine of the Valar in mind when he conceived this. It's a strengthening drink, very potent. There's this one entertaining story about when Mother got drunk once because she drank too much of it."</p><p class="western">Maglor poured himself a sip and tasted it carefully. It had been a long time, a very long time indeed, since he had last been allowed to taste <em>miruvórë</em>. He had been young then and the world was as it should have been. He didn't know how Elrond had managed it, but somehow his <em>miruvor</em> came very close to the original.</p><p class="western">"I thank you," he said to the twins.</p><p class="western">Now that their diversion was no longer a necessity, Arwen had taken her leave of Erestor, though she still pretended that her brothers had never, ever sneaked in to play a trick on Maglor. She joined them and sat down with Maglor in the alcove.</p><p class="western">"Excellent work as always, little sister," Elrohir praised.</p><p class="western">"It's good to still be able to count on you!" affirmed Elladan.</p><p class="western">Arwen smiled. Then she turned to Maglor. "How good to see you regaining your strength, Grandfather. I have brought you a small gift. No, not a frog."</p><p class="western">She handed him a pair of gloves made of the finest leather, which she had embroidered with a delicate star pattern. If you looked closely, you could recognise his father's star in them. The leather felt decidedly soft and supple.</p><p class="western">"That is very kind of you, Arwen," he thanked her. He took off his old gloves, which he had worn over the bandages, and tried on the new ones. They wore as comfortably as he had suspected. It had been a very long time since he had worn something so fine.</p><p class="western">"That ring on your finger," Arwen remarked. "Father never mentioned you were married."</p><p class="western">Elladan looked at him questioningly. "And he really did talk a lot about you."</p><p class="western">Maglor averted his eyes and placed his hand on his fingers, as if to protect the ring he wore hidden under his glove from unauthorised eyes. "Because I never told him," he said quietly.</p><p class="western">Elrohir nodded. "Good, then ... keep your secrets."</p><p class="western">The frog croaked. Inconveniently, it sounded very loud in the library.</p><p class="western">"Uh-oh," Elladan remarked, but had to grin. His brother returned it.</p><p class="western">At the other end of the room, Erestor raised his head. "Was that a frog?"</p><p class="western">"I'll stop him, then you can escape," Maglor said in a hushed voice. "And take the poor frog with you."</p><p class="western">"Will do!" said the twins as if from the same mouth.</p><p class="western">How alike they were to Elrond and Elros!</p><p class="western">While the twins scurried away with the frog, Maglor stood up and came towards Erestor as if nothing had happened. Erestor seemed to be suspicious, for he looked around between the rows of shelves, showing a good sense of what was actually going on.</p><p class="western">"Ereþtor, good of you to come," Maglor therefore said quickly. "Do you have a moment for me?"</p><p class="western">"Is it because of that frog?"</p><p class="western">"What frog?"</p><p class="western">Erestor eyed him suspiciously. "Be that as it may. What do you need?"</p><p class="western">"I keep reading references to this Akallabêth and would like to study the original if possible."</p><p class="western">Apparently the frog was instantly forgotten. " That is not so easily possible, of course," said Erestor. "We keep many ancient works here, some can even be dated back to the First Age. They are not publicly accessible, of course, only their copies, which we make from time to time. But I can let you see the original if it's important for your studies. Under supervision, of course."</p><p class="western">Maglor nodded. "That would be very helpful, yes."</p><p class="western">"Come." Erestor led him to the back of the library. A heavy oak door separated another area. Erestor took a bunch of keys from his robe and opened the door. When they entered, they found themselves in a light-protected room where the dust of centuries seemed to have collected. The air was dry and smelled of old parchment.</p><p class="western">"This is where we keep the originals," Erestor explained in a hushed voice, as if he did not want to wake these old documents from their sleep.</p><p class="western">He did not light a candle; the little light that fell through the door had to be enough for them. Erestor reached for a pair of cloth gloves lying on a sideboard near the door and led Maglor through the archive. Maglor took a deep breath and enjoyed the smell of knowledge.</p><p class="western">"This is a very special treasure," Erestor whispered, pointing to some scrolls of parchment. "Originals from the pen of Daeron of Doriath, merely a little singed. I can attest to their authenticity. It is a wonder they have survived time in such good condition!"</p><p class="western">Maglor had to stop himself from dropping a traitorous comment. He should have just let this crime against art burn then! But no, he had had to save it at all costs.</p><p class="western">"And here we have the original of the <em>Narn i Hîn Húrin</em>," Erestor continued. "Unfortunately not quite so well preserved, some parts are difficult to decipher. Dírhaval died defending his work, his blood on the pages testifies to that."</p><p class="western">Maglor pressed his lips tightly together as he recalled that day when he had come to Arvernien with his brothers. Dírhaval had died on his sword. He had begged and pleaded and offered his precious Narn to Maglor in exchange for mercy for his mistress Elwing. Maglor had nevertheless murdered him in cold blood and torn the pages from his dead fingers. If only Erestor knew. But Maglor held his tongue and said nothing about it.</p><p class="western">"Show me the Akallabêth, please," he said instead.</p><p class="western">"Of course."</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Later that day, Maglor found Aragost in one of the arcades of the house. The man had neatly combed hair and wore fine robes. Somehow he managed to look like both a prince and a ranger in them.</p><p class="western">"I hardly recognised you, friend Aragoþt," Maglor said lightly as he leaned against the railing beside him and let his gaze wander over the valley.</p><p class="western">Aragost cleared his throat sheepishly. "Well. Not my preferred attire, I must confess."</p><p class="western">A somewhat uncomfortable silence fell between them. Aragost stirred.</p><p class="western">"So you are Maglor Feanorion..." he began sheepishly.</p><p class="western">"There is no need for these formalities," Maglor assured him. "You are welcome to continue calling me Lindir if you wish. It was by that name that I met my first friend in ... in a very long time indeed."</p><p class="western">Aragost smiled. "Very well. Lindir it is, then. That's easier to grasp anyway. I still can't believe I'm supposed to have just picked you up in this dive like a lost piece of luggage."</p><p class="western">"But aren't I? Lost in the mists of time."</p><p class="western">"Are you feeling better by now?" wanted to know Aragost. "You seem so ... more real. As if you would no longer break at any moment if I touched you just a tiny bit."</p><p class="western">Maglor smiled bitterly. "I have swept the shards of myself together and put them back together. But it only takes a slight breeze to knock them over again."</p><p class="western">"I won't say I understand your pain. Perhaps no one can. But at least some things I understand better now."</p><p class="western">"Are you angry with me for keeping from you who I really am?"</p><p class="western">Energetically, Aragost shook his head. "No, absolutely not! I can imagine why you did that."</p><p class="western">Maglor turned his gaze back to the valley. "I don't know if I'm glad it all turned out the way it did. But still, it was kind of a nice time when no one knew who I really was."</p><p class="western">"I've come to know you as Lindir, as a good friend who appreciates the value of silence," Aragost said. "And who plays really, really good music. Maglor, on the other hand, to me, is a legendary figure from ancient times so impossibly long ago that it may as well have sprung from myths and legends. To me, you will always be Lindir."</p><p class="western">"But that is a lie. Lindir is a lie ..." whispered Maglor.</p><p class="western">"No, he isn't. You are that elf who sings melancholy songs and has a heart for little children."</p><p class="western">"But I am also a kinslayer. I have spilled the blood of innocents with these hands in a vain attempt to fulfil our oath. And then I held my <em>þilmaril</em> in my hands and it burned my flesh, and I knew: all those Elves had died for nothing. You cannot measure this immense guilt."</p><p class="western">"No, I can't. You are right. But I know that we are all more than our deeds. Every day I spend out there, seeing the ruins of Arthedain, I remember my origins. The shadows of my ancestors loom over me like giants and the weight of the past presses down on my shoulders. But the only thing that matters is the here and now. The past is gone. All of that is long gone. None of it is happening now, in this moment. All that matters now is that we take the next step. And after that, another and on and on."</p><p class="western">Maglor was silent and said nothing in response. He merely continued to stare out at the valley.</p><p class="western">"What are you going to do now?" wanted to know Aragost.</p><p class="western">A sudden idea came over Maglor. "Perhaps I will make harps. I used to make all my own harps, including the twins'. Elrond still has his, though Elroþ' was sadly lost. But whatever I do, I will stay. Elrond needs his father."</p><p class="western">Aragost gave him a sidelong glance. "But I will not call you grandpa."</p><p class="western">"What?" Maglor looked at him questioningly.</p><p class="western">The man laughed. "Tar-Minyatur was my ancestor, and you adopted him and Master Elrond; Elladan and Elrohir told me as much."</p><p class="western">Maglor laughed to himself. "Bad enough when I was Uncle Makalaure one day. Grandpa is worse! Look, I'm getting grey hair already."</p><p class="western">Aragost nudged him in the side. "That's the way I like you. But say, would you mind walking a bit with me? My son is training with Glorfindel and I promised him I would watch."</p><p class="western">Maglor nodded, and they both headed for the training ground further down the valley. A serpentine staircase cut into the rock led down the plateau on which the house stood, connecting it to the settlement in the valley. The architecture was remarkable; Elrond must have really good builders. For the fact that this place had once been founded as a fortified refuge from the enemy, one saw surprisingly little of it, so subtly were the defences integrated into the architecture. In addition, Elrond's magic protected the valley, probably far more effectively than any wall could have done. His little boy had achieved so much.</p><p class="western">They reached the garrison, where Glorfindel was already shooing poor Aravorn about.</p><p class="western">"A warrior needs stamina, boy!" he instructed just as Aravorn ran another lap past him, panting.</p><p class="western">Aragost leaned against a railing and waved to his son. Aravorn beamed and seemed to take new strength from somewhere. He ran faster.</p><p class="western">"Merciless as ever," Aragost remarked, pointing at Glorfindel. "Do you know him from his former life?"</p><p class="western">"Vain cock," Maglor remarked with a grin. "Turukáno liked to surround himself with eccentrics, so I'm not surprised Laurefindele was among them. Yes, Turukáno was not my favourite of my cousins, but at least the feeling is mutual."</p><p class="western">Meanwhile, Glorfindel had noticed them. When he saw Maglor, his face darkened. He motioned Aravorn to keep walking and came towards them.</p><p class="western">"What are you doing here?" he demanded to know. His gaze bored into Maglor. "Are you spying?"</p><p class="western">Maglor urged himself to be calm, although Glorfindel was testing his patience greatly. "I am merely escorting a friend to see his son."</p><p class="western">"I'll keep an eye on you, kinslayer."</p><p class="western">"Lindir," Maglor reminded him dryly.</p><p class="western">If looks could kill, he would surely be struck by lightning at that moment. With a snort, Glorfindel turned away. With obvious discomfort, Aragost watched him go.</p><p class="western">"I don't know him like that at all," he remarked.</p><p class="western">"That's how most people I meet are who know what I did," Maglor said emotionlessly.</p><p class="western">"He'll get over it, I'm sure."</p><p class="western">"No, he won't."</p><p class="western">At that, Aragost fell silent.</p><p class="western">In the square, Glorfindel shooed Aravorn around the track for another lap.</p><p class="western">After a while Elladan and Elrohir joined them. They leaned against the barrier with them and watched Glorfindel flay Aravorn.</p><p class="western">"At least we all had to go through it," Elladan remarked.</p><p class="western">"Equal rights for all," his brother added.</p><p class="western">"Tell me, Grandfather, would you cross blades with us?"</p><p class="western">"You were once a great warrior and ..."</p><p class="western">"No!" interrupted Maglor sharply. "You wield the blades of my brothers, that must be enough. I will not touch another weapon, ever again."</p><p class="western">Elrohir stepped sheepishly from one foot to the other. "My apologies if we offended you."</p><p class="western">The mood was saved by Aravorn, who joined them. Apparently Glorfindel had released him from his clutches. The boy was breathing heavily and his face was red from the exertion, but he still found enough energy to jump into his father's arms.</p><p class="western">"Papa, now I can show you how good I already am with the sword! I challenge you to a duel!" he blurted out.</p><p class="western">"He got that from us," Elrohir whispered to Maglor. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes.</p><p class="western">Maglor smirked and raised an eyebrow mockingly. Elladan and Elrohir gasped.</p><p class="western">"That eyebrow!" exclaimed Elladan.</p><p class="western">"Father got that from <em>you</em>!"</p><p class="western">"Good gracious!"</p><p class="western">Maglor looked at them questioningly. "I don't quite understand ..."</p><p class="western">"Father stares everyone down!"</p><p class="western">"Absolutely everyone."</p><p class="western">"Including Glorfindel."</p><p class="western">"That look is creepy."</p><p class="western">"Papa, I challenged you!", Aravorn interrupted her. "Do you accept like a knight or are you cowardly like an orc?"</p><p class="western">"Like an orc?" said Aragost playfully threatening. "Well, I can't take that!"</p><p class="western">Together with his son, he entered the practice area and retrieved two short wooden practice swords. Aravorn protested because he wanted to fight with sharp blades, but admittedly did not get away with it. The boy's stamina was remarkable.</p><p class="western">Aravorn made a big fuss about the skills he had learned so far and overestimated himself immeasurably, but Aragost played along to please his son. Smiling, Maglor watched them.</p><p class="western">"Thank you for the diversion in the library," Elladan said. "I'm sure Erestor had already caught the scent, but thanks to you we escaped."</p><p class="western">"And we got the frog back to his friends," Elrohir added. "He was a really brave accomplice."</p><p class="western">"Maybe we should name him after you."</p><p class="western">"Oh, please don't!" said Maglor, though with a laugh on his lips. "If you do, I'll write mocking songs about you."</p><p class="western">"I tremble in fear." Elrohir grinned.</p><p class="western">"Did you enjoy Erestor's treasury?" wanted to know Elladan.</p><p class="western">"He has no idea that most of the books in it were once mine," Maglor said. "Though I must say quite frankly that Daeron's 'poetry', if you want to call it that, is really not worth the parchment it was smeared on. Instead of saving it, I should have had it burnt in Doriath."</p><p class="western">Elladan looked at him mockingly. "Is someone jealous?"</p><p class="western">Maglor raised his head proudly. "Calling that busybody the best minstrel was solely propaganda by Thingol against the Noldor. Everyone knows I am deserving of that respect."</p><p class="western">"Ohh, modesty is definitely not your adornment," Elrohir remarked. "So Father did not get that from you."</p><p class="western">"We Feanorians are the best at everything we do, and we know it," Maglor pointed out. "But what was the last one like?"</p><p class="western">"Father is terribly stingy with his music," Elladan complained. "He hardly ever plays to anyone but his family, and even we have to work him for weeks every time until he softens."</p><p class="western">"Well, now you have me," Maglor said. "You will hear no better music than mine."</p><p class="western">In the background, Aragost and Aravorn were by now laughing and wrestling with bare fists on the ground. It was almost like Tirion again, when all was well with the world.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you want to read more about Maglor's wife I recomend <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25154434/chapters/60952711">Love is foolish</a>.</p><p>Next chapter we're going to meet some dwarves.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The dwarves</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Thorin &amp; Co come to Rivendell and Maglor is not at all happy about it.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Last chapter for this year. Wish you all a happy new year!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Maglor stayed in Rivendell and somehow it became his home. As he had told Aragost, he opened a small workshop and began to construct harps. Word of his skill spread quickly and soon his harps were sought-after objects of art. No one guessed who Lindir really was.</p><p class="western">As for Glorfindel, Maglor simply avoided him most of the time. Somehow they already got along, even if it was probably mainly because Elrond had spoken very clear words. Besides, Glorfindel was loyal to the lord he had chosen until his last breath, and that was now Elrond; after all, he was indeed a descendant of Turgon.</p><p class="western">From time to time Maglor left the valley with Elladan and Elrohir to hunt orcs with Aragost. He still did not touch a weapon and never would again, yet he faced the dangers of the wilderness.</p><p class="western">One day Arahad lay down to rest at noon and never woke up. Aragost became the chieftain of the Dúnedain and now it was up to his now grown son Aravorn to go out with the Elves and save untroubled men from the terrors of the enemy. He had never known that Lindir was in truth Maglor, and so it remained a secret among the Dúnedain. They seemed to have accepted him anyway as a good, if secretive, friend who occasionally returned to them.</p><p class="western">So the years went by. Maglor watched Aravorn grow up and mature into a proud and strong man. At the same time, Aragost grew old and grey and one day succeeded his father. Maglor mourned his death, but somehow it was a bittersweet pain and not one that shattered the soul. The Dúnedain came and went, but Maglor and the twins stayed.</p><p class="western">Over the years many young Dúnedain came to learn from Elrond. Maglor was careful not to form too strong an emotional bond with them, for as soon as they came into the world, they left again. One day news reached them that Arathorn had been killed by an orc arrow long before his time. His wife Gilraen came to Rivendell with their too young son Aragorn to seek protection from the enemy. It was decided to keep the boy's identity secret and call him Estel. Maglor sensed that there was something special about this boy. Something that reminded him particularly strongly of Elros. Estel was different from his ancestors.</p><p class="western">Maglor sang his songs and made his harps and time outside the valley no longer seemed to matter. Somehow he had found his peace. But he saw the fractures where his <em>fea</em> had shattered, and he knew he would never be able to put it back together as it had once been in Valinor. All it took was a quiet breath to make the house of cards collapse and restore him to the spirit he had been.</p><p class="western">And then, one day, dwarves came to the valley.</p><p class="western">Maglor wanted to try out his new lyre that day and had gone down the valley with it, away from the settlement. He preferred to try out new instruments and songs away from all civilisation. Here he had peace and was all alone with himself and the music. Sometimes he simply needed these moments, often when he once again felt overwhelmed by the company of others. He still hadn't quite got used to being among elves again.</p><p class="western">He could hear them tramping through nature from far away. Hastily he hid behind some trees and watched the group. He counted thirteen dwarves, one hobbit and, to his greatest astonishment, one of the Ainur, dressed in the guise of an old man with a beard and grey robes. He carried one of the Three with him, hidden, but not to Maglor. Elrond had told him of it, of the Istari who had come to Middle-earth. This had to be Gandalf, whom he had seen long ago in Valinor. What a strange encounter.</p><p class="western">"Are you sure this is the right way, Gandalf?" asked one of the dwarves, who must have been their leader. "The ponies can hardly find a safe footing here."</p><p class="western">"I am sure, Thorin!" insisted Gandalf, apparently not for the first time. "Of course I am, after all I have been here many times."</p><p class="western">"Tell me again about this place," the Hobbit asked.</p><p class="western">"Make haste, Mr Baggins," Gandalf admonished. "You will soon meet the master of this valley. Put on your best manners, Bilbo, for he is a very wise and powerful master. That goes for all of you."</p><p class="western">"You lead us to elves, Gandalf," a dwarf with a white beard and red hood chimed in. "I have never trusted elves."</p><p class="western">"My brother is right," added another. "Elves can't be trusted. They're always up to something. Who's to say this 'wise master of the house' will actually help us and not just chase us away again?"</p><p class="western">"<em>I </em>say so," Gandalf said firmly. "And if you really think so of the elves of this valley, then you are not too wise yourselves, Balin and Dwalin."</p><p class="western">The dwarves were silent in offence, but the Hobbit looked around with shining eyes. Maglor, on a spur of the moment thought that hadn't really been thought through, decided to give them a proper welcome.</p><p class="western">He slipped away and climbed a tree near a clearing over which the dwarves' path led. Then he waited. Just as they entered the clearing, he sang a song that he made up while he was still singing. Improvisation had always been one of his best skills.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">O! What are you doing,</p><p class="western">And where are you going?</p><p class="western">Your Ponies need shoeing!</p><p class="western">The river is flowing!</p><p class="western">O! tra-la-la-lally</p><p class="western">here down in in the valley!</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">O! What are you seeking,</p><p class="western">And where are you making?</p><p class="western">The faggots are reeking,</p><p class="western">The bannocks are baking!</p><p class="western">O! tril-lil-lil-lolly</p><p class="western">the valley is jolly,</p><p class="western">ha! ha!</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">O! Where are you going</p><p class="western">With beards all a-wagging?</p><p class="western">No knowing, no knowing</p><p class="western">What brings Mister Baggins</p><p class="western">And Balin and Dwalin</p><p class="western">down into the valley</p><p class="western">in June</p><p class="western">ha! ha!</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">O! Will you be staying,</p><p class="western">Or will you be flying?</p><p class="western">Your ponis are straying!</p><p class="western">The daylight is dying!</p><p class="western">To fly would be folly,</p><p class="western">To stay would be jolly</p><p class="western">And listen and hark</p><p class="western">Till the end of the dark</p><p class="western">to our tune</p><p class="western">ha! ha!</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The dwarves searched for him in the trees and shook their fists indignantly, but they did not find him. Meanwhile, other elves had joined in and picked up Maglor's mocking verses, much to the displeasure of the dwarves. Gandalf seemed to perk up at Maglor's song, but Maglor scurried away to avoid detection.</p><p class="western">He did not know what to make of the fact that an Ainu had come to Imladris. Elrond, of course, had told him about the White Council, and so far he had been able to effectively avoid its members. And hadn't Elrond also mentioned that there was a meeting of the Council coming up? Maglor had been so absorbed in his music that he had lost track of time. Well, when had he ever cared about time in the last millennia?</p><p class="western">He needed to talk to Elrond!</p><p class="western">Maglor hurried back to the house. Indeed, a meal was already being prepared here for the newcomers; Elrond knew, of course, who had come to his valley. He found Elrond in the fire hall.</p><p class="western">"Lindir, what is it? Has something happened?" he asked as he saw Maglor hurrying towards him. In public he always called him by that name.</p><p class="western">"I must get away from here and you must help me!" said Maglor presently.</p><p class="western">Elrond looked at him questioningly. "Why? There is no need."</p><p class="western">"You know of the Istar who has just entered the valley," Maglor said in a hushed voice. "And then I remembered what you told me about your White Council. They will know who I am! And Artaniþ certainly won't be pleased to see her presumed dead cousin again."</p><p class="western">Which was at least mutual, Maglor reflected to himself. He had never liked Galadriel, and certainly not after she had rejected his father in that most inappropriate manner.</p><p class="western">"Calm yourself," Elrond said gently. Maglor felt him give him a little mental nudge with Vilya. "What do you fear might happen?"</p><p class="western">Maglor looked at him sharply and raised his gloved hands. "You know very well. Manwe's curse is still upon me."</p><p class="western">"And yet here you are," Elrond retorted.</p><p class="western">Maglor's thoughts flashed over. How had he been so careless? The peace of the valley had lulled him! "I should never have come here," he scolded quietly. "I had never wanted to involve you in this, and now this. Unforgivable!"</p><p class="western">Elrond was about to say something in reply, but was interrupted by Rethtulu as he entered the hall. "My lord, your guests have arrived. Ceomon leads them here."</p><p class="western">Maglor felt cornered and he hated that feeling. It stirred his old fighter instincts. He sensed danger and he wanted to fight it by getting ahead of it by attacking. But Gandalf was an <em>Ainu</em> and he, though a son of Feanor, was but a single Elf.</p><p class="western">Gandalf, followed by the dwarves and Bilbo the Hobbit, entered the Firehall. He saw Maglor and recognised him. Amazingly, Maglor did not immediately burst into flames as a result. And even more amazingly, Gandalf did not say a word about Maglor's presence. Instead, he acted as if he were an Elf like any other and paid him no further attention as he stepped up to Elrond and bowed slightly to him. The dwarves' manners, despite their dislike of elves, were good enough to do the same to him. Their beards swept the floor.</p><p class="western">"<em>Le suilon, heron Elrond</em>. I am pleased to enjoy your hospitality once more," Gandalf greeted Elrond.</p><p class="western">"<em>I mâr nîn i mâr dhîn</em>," Elrond replied. "As always, my doors are open to you, Mithrandir. And I also welcome you and your companions to my house, Thorin Thráinthrór's son. Your name is well known in this house."</p><p class="western">Thorin looked taken aback that Elrond seemed to know about him. Nevertheless, he stepped forward and bowed again. "Gandalf may have been right after all in what he said about this place. You seem well informed of the reason for our coming."</p><p class="western">Maglor noticed the exchange of thought between Gandalf and Elrond that passed between them unnoticed by the mortals. Now Elrond did indeed know.</p><p class="western">"Indeed," Elrond said simply. "Come, you have had an arduous journey and shall now rest. You shall be given lodging and food and drink."</p><p class="western">Ceomon and Rethtulu led the mortals away, but Gandalf remained. Now he turned his attention to Maglor, who had remained in the background. Maglor steeled himself for what was to come. He had survived far worse, and even if Gandalf was an emissary of Manwe, he was but a Maia. Maglor jutted his chin.</p><p class="western">"I am surprised to see you here," was all Gandalf had to say, however. "It was said that you disappeared long ago."</p><p class="western">"Things that are lost can be found again," Maglor said dryly, engaging in an eye duel with Gandalf. Neither of them conceded.</p><p class="western">"A pretty verse that was," Gandalf finally remarked with affected politeness. "At least you haven't lost your sharp tongue."</p><p class="western">Maglor's lips twisted into a mocking smile. "Some things are just never lost."</p><p class="western">Gandalf said nothing in response. Instead, he bowed again to Elrond, then left. Maglor breathed a sigh of relief, only now feeling how tense he was. He clenched his hands into fists, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. At least he hadn't burst into flames immediately.</p><p class="western">He wished Elrond a good night and then took refuge in his workshop. Elrond let him know that he had nothing to fear, but Maglor was not convinced. He had been guilty of terrible crimes in his past, and Elrond knew this only too well. Not even he could excuse all of what Maglor had done. All these years Maglor had been running from his past, but that was no longer possible. Now it had finally caught up with him and his judgment awaited him.</p><p class="western">On the afternoon of the next day Ceomon came to see him in the workshop. "Lord Elrond sent me, my lord. He wishes you to be present at dinner with the guests tonight."</p><p class="western">Maglor had often played the music at social occasions in the past and was more or less officially the harpist of Rivendell. Elrond had once told him that he was quite happy about it, because now no one expected him to play the harp. Maglor had been outraged that his son was so reticent about his skills, but had not been able to soften him. He certainly got that stubbornness from Maedhros.</p><p class="western">This time, however, Maglor did not feel particularly motivated to let his music ring out.</p><p class="western">"Then tell him I do not wish it," he replied.</p><p class="western">Ceomon cleared his throat. " Lord, he also thought that you would probably say that, and therefore sends word that it is a very special wish of his heart if you play the harp tonight. And also ... may I speak frankly?"</p><p class="western">Maglor nodded. "You may. You know that."</p><p class="western">Ceomon searched for the right words. "Mithrandir is ... different from what you think," he said then. "You fear the judgment of the Valar unjustly. Lord, I have stood with you in almost everything you have done. Whatever is laid to your charge may also be laid to mine. Mithrandir knows this, and yet he has never judged Rethtulu or me."</p><p class="western">"You are but vassals, yet I gave the orders."</p><p class="western">"Murder is murder, no matter who gave the order or who wielded the knife."</p><p class="western">Amazingly, Maglor then found himself speechless. He stared at Ceomon. How could he go on as if nothing had happened? As if they had not together doomed the world? What was it that had never made Ceomon break? It was a mystery to Maglor.</p><p class="western">"We did what we did, and now all we can do is live with it. But we can decide how to live with it," Ceomon continued. "Mithrandir would have passed judgement long ago if he thought we still deserved punishment."</p><p class="western">Maglor said nothing in response. Ceomon bowed and left. Some time later, Maglor stowed his large, forty-seven-stringed harp safely in its carrying case and went up to the house. It was not the ancient piece he had carried with him all the years of his wanderings, but one of those instruments he had made in Rivendell. This one he had made all for himself, a work of art of intricate ornaments and gold and silver fittings. A replica of his favourite harp, which he had had to leave behind in Fornost. Foot, pillar and head together formed the Two Trees Laurelin and Telperion.</p><p class="western">Elrond was already waiting for him, of course, but was nevertheless extremely pleased that Maglor had complied with his request.</p><p class="western">"I suppose it's a good sign that I haven't burst into flames yet," said Maglor.</p><p class="western">"Are you worried about Mithrandir?" wanted Elrond to know.</p><p class="western">"You know I don't trust Ainur. Whenever they interfere, something bad happens."</p><p class="western">"I don't know what your experiences with Mithrandir are. But I can assure you that you have nothing to fear from him. You said it yourself: You have not yet burst into flames."</p><p class="western">"Not that you would have it happen."</p><p class="western">"No."</p><p class="western">And that was the part that worried Maglor the most. If judgement was really passed on him, Elrond would surely side with him and get himself into a lot of trouble. Maglor could not allow that to happen. The Oath was a matter that concerned Feanor and his sons alone. It was tragic enough that it had already come to such a bad end with Celebrimbor. It could not be allowed to affect Elrond as well.</p><p class="western">"I think you will like Bilbo," Elrond changed the subject. "He is very interested in history, but also music. And you might not find the dwarves too obnoxious either. Thorin plays the harp."</p><p class="western">"I'm sure he maltreats the strings as if he had a hammer in his hand," Maglor elaborated. "Dwarves have not an ounce of elegance in them. Why are they here at all, what are you supposed to be helping them with?"</p><p class="western">"Thorin is of the line of Durin and wants to claim Erebor as King under the Mountain. He has with him a map of Thrór that supposedly points a secret way into the mountain."</p><p class="western">"Into a mountain where a dragon sleeps," Maglor pointed out. "There are easier ways to get yourself killed."</p><p class="western">"Mithrandir has other plans for the dragon. I agree with him about Smaug being a danger as long as he lives and could join forces with Sauron. And we do not know where Sauron is hiding at present."</p><p class="western">"What of this shadow in Mirkwood?"</p><p class="western">Elrond lowered his voice. "That is precisely what Mithrandir and I fear."</p><p class="western">"So he has incited these dwarves to take back their kingdom and in the process eliminate the dragon for him," Maglor concluded. It only confirmed to him what he thought about the Ainur anyway. They always used others to pursue their own ends.</p><p class="western">They walked together to one of the terraces of the house, where the feast was already being prepared for the guests of the house. They found Bilbo in the company of Estel, who seemed to have taken a fancy to the Hobbit. Elrond relieved Bilbo of his role as nanny and took charge of the boy, while Maglor went to the side of the terrace. Here was a slightly raised platform which he used to play his harp from. He began to tune the instrument. He noticed Bilbo watching him, but did not approach him.</p><p class="western">A short time later Gandalf also arrived, who joined Elrond. Soon the noisy troop of dwarves followed. Ceomon and Rethtulu assigned them their places at the long table.</p><p class="western">Gandalf sat at Elrond's right hand. "I can only reiterate how grateful we are for your hospitality, Master Elrond," he said, casting a sharp glance at Thorin, who sat opposite him.</p><p class="western">"Most obliging indeed," Thorin said, somewhat curtly.</p><p class="western">"I hope all has been served to your satisfaction," Elrond said. "Otherwise, do not hesitate to express your wishes, and I will see what I can do."</p><p class="western">"Music is also provided, I see," said Gandalf, pointing to Maglor. "Even outside the Vale one hears tales of Lindir, the gifted harpist of Imladris."</p><p class="western">Maglor did not let on what he was thinking and merely took this without comment as a hint to now tune his music. He struck the strings and wove golden notes, memories of what had once been in Valinor when even the Valar asked for his music. The glory of the old days would forever remain unmatched, but his music evoked echoes of what he had seen with his own eyes so long ago.</p><p class="western">It was the beginning of his Noldolante and it sang of the former glory of the Noldor in Aman. Music that had not been heard in Middle-earth for two ages.</p><p class="western">Even the dwarves had fallen silent, stunned, listening to his song. They did not know what times the notes brought back to life, but they seemed to suspect that his art was without equal even among the Eldar.</p><p class="western">When his song ended, Thorin rose and bowed to him. "Gandalf truly did not exaggerate when he spoke of you."</p><p class="western">Maglor smiled thinly. At least this dwarf did indeed know something about music, even if he still doubted that Thorin could elicit even a clean tone from the strings.</p><p class="western">As the evening went on, he played more carefree songs and the occasional improvisation. Elrond seemed very pleased and glad that Maglor shared his art so freely with his guests.</p><p class="western">"Master Elrond, you are well versed in the tales of the old world," said Gandalf. "In the Trollshaws west of here we found a hoard and some interesting loot within it. I do not know how the trolls got them, but among them were these swords. I hope you can identify them. They are of exceptional make."</p><p class="western">He handed Elrond his sword, which Elrond accepted and examined. As he drew the blade, he saw the runes that had been carved into the metal near the hilt. He raised an eyebrow.</p><p class="western">"This is Glamdring, the blade of King Turgon of Gondolin," he finally said. "How it came into the possession of trolls I am indeed at a loss to say. A remarkable blade, and even more remarkable that it survived the fall of the Hidden City."</p><p class="western">Maglor put his hands to the strings to silence them and looked to Elrond. He had not expected this. He had last seen Glamdring in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.</p><p class="western">"And what of this sword?" wanted Thorin to know.</p><p class="western">Elrond looked at it too, but this time Maglor beat him to it. He rose and joined them.</p><p class="western">"This is Orcriþt," he said. "It was once wielded by Glorfindel of Gondolin, and it is said that he slew the Balrog with it when Gondolin fell. These are notable weapons that had once been wielded by powerful lords."</p><p class="western">"Gondolin!" exclaimed Bilbo. "I have heard of it. But it was so long ago. Can these swords really be so old?" Shyly he added, "And what about mine?" He fingered a dagger that lay on his lap. To him, the dagger was big enough to serve as a sword.</p><p class="western">"A letter opener," Maglor said with only a smirk on his lips.</p><p class="western">Bilbo looked relieved for some reason.</p><p class="western">Maglor returned to his harp, now strumming a gentle melody from Gondolin. What strange coincidences fate knew.</p><p class="western">"Master Elrond, we also needed your help in deciphering this map," Gandalf continued.</p><p class="western">Elrond looked at the map for a long time and considered. He held it up to the moonlight, and that was when Maglor also saw the silver glint of Ithildin.</p><p class="western">"Moon runes," Elrond noted. "Right next to the normal runes here, apparently describing a secret door."</p><p class="western">Bilbo noticed. "What are moon runes?" he wanted to know. "You must know I'm very interested in maps, but I've never heard of them."</p><p class="western">"They are an invention of the dwarves, as my cousin Celebrimbor once told me," Elrond explained. "They are written with silver feathers and ithildin, and can only be seen in the light of the moon when it shines through them. With some it is even so that it must be the same moon at the same time as on the day they were written."</p><p class="western">"And what do they say now?" grumbled Thorin. Apparently it pained him that Elrond had discovered this before him.</p><p class="western">"Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks," read Elrond, "and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the key hole"*</p><p class="western">"Durin!" cried Thorin. "That is the answer to the riddle!"</p><p class="western">Elrond handed him back the map. "Think carefully about how you want to go about this business. Dragons are not to be trifled with, and your pickpocket may be skilled, but even he cannot steal an entire hoard from beneath a sleeping dragon."</p><p class="western">"Let that be our concern only," Thorin replied. "But I can no longer tolerate that beast defiling my treasure, and least of all the Arkenstone."</p><p class="western">The mention of this Arkenstone triggered something. Maglor noticed Elrond's concern as he gave him a quick glance, and Gandalf too stirred uneasily. Maglor frowned.</p><p class="western">"What is this Arkenstone?" he wanted to know.</p><p class="western">"The King's Jewel, the Heart of the Mountain," Thorin said proudly. "A great jewel discovered during the reign of my ancestor Thráin I and passed on as the inheritance of the kings under the mountain. It is my rightful possession and more precious than all other treasures combined. The Arkenstone shines with its own white light and is a great, heavy gem that refracts the light of the stars into a thousand facets. There is nothing like it in this world."</p><p class="western">Maglor's heart began to race. This could never, ever be! It simply could not be true. Yes, indeed, there was nothing else like it in this world. Another gem had sunk into the waters of the Belegaer and the third shone high in the sky as a star. Thorin had described Maedhros' <em>silmaril</em>.</p><p class="western">He saw the worry on Elrond's face and how he shook his head barely perceptibly. Maglor tried to calm his thoughts. His past had truly caught up with him. What did he do now with this knowledge? What would the oath drive him to do? Would it even force him to take up arms and spill blood again?</p><p class="western">"<em>Atto</em>," Elrond whispered in his thoughts. "<em>Please don't.</em>"</p><p class="western">Maglor avoided his gaze. How he wished he could just let all this rest. How he wished all this had never happened. How he wished for peace and tranquillity, to be able to put the ripples of history behind him. Like back in Tirion, when the world still seemed to be in order and Morgoth was in chains. But those days were long gone and lost to him forever. He sang.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Ai! laurië lantar laþþi þúrinen,</p><p class="western">yéni unótimë ve rámar aldaron!</p><p class="western">Yéni ve lintë yuldar avánier</p><p class="western">mi oromardi liþþe-miruvóreva</p><p class="western">Andúnë pella, Vardo tellumar</p><p class="western">nu luini yaþþen tintilar i eleni</p><p class="western">ómaryo airetári-lírinen.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Þí man i yulma nin enquantuva?</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">An þí Tintallë Varda Oioloþþëo</p><p class="western">ve fanyar máryat Elentári ortanë,</p><p class="western">ar ilyë tier undulávë lumbulë;</p><p class="western">ar þindanóriello caita mornië</p><p class="western">i falmalinnar imbë met, ar híþië</p><p class="western">untúpa Calaciryo míri oialë.</p><p class="western">Þí vanwa ná, Rómello vanwa, Valimar!</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Namárië! Nai hiruvalyë Valimar.</p><p class="western">Nai elyë hiruva. Namárië!</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">But Valinor was closed to him. There was no way back for him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Le suilon, heron Elrond - I greet you, Master Elrond; S.<br/>I mâr nîn i mâr dhîn - My home is the home of you all; S.<br/>Mocking Verse of the Elves of Rivendell by J.R.R. Tolkien in The Hobbit<br/>Namárië by J.R.R. Tolkien in The Lord of the Rings.<br/>*a quote from the Hobbit; I decided against copying the whole scene one-to-one</p><p>Another take on that matter is my text <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28408017">A short rest in Rivendell</a>.</p><p>Next chapter Maglor has to face the White Council.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The White Council</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>While Maglor has a pleasant talk with Bilbo about music Elrond steps in to inform Maglor that the White Council want to decide his fate.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">The next day Bilbo visited him in his workshop, Estel at his side. As usual, Maglor was working on one of his harps when he heard the bell on the shop door jingle. Lifting his head and setting aside the polishing tool, he saw the two of them enter.</p><p class="western">Bilbo looked around with wide eyes. The workshop was crowded with harps of all sizes and shapes, some in various stages of completion. On the walls were high shelves full of works on music. Most of them Maglor had written himself.</p><p class="western">"Can I help you?", Maglor wanted to know.</p><p class="western">"Hello, Grandpa Lindir," Estel greeted him. "My friend Bilbo wanted to know where he could find you, so I led him here. I hope that was all right?"</p><p class="western">"Of course, big one," Maglor replied. "But don't you have lessons with Ereþtor now?"</p><p class="western">"Is postponed," Estel lied smoothly.</p><p class="western">Maglor raised a brow wordlessly.</p><p class="western">Estel whined. "That's boring! He's just making me recite old books again and memorise the names of people who died long ago. Can't we just say that you really needed to give me music lessons?"</p><p class="western">Bilbo looked at the boy questioningly. "Lindir is your grandfather? But you're human, aren't you?"</p><p class="western">Estel chuckled. "I am, yes. But I still call him that because he's so old."</p><p class="western">Probably Elladan and Elrohir had put that in him after Elrond had officially adopted him. Strictly speaking, that did indeed make Maglor Estel's grandfather, even if the boy didn't know it. He probably just thought it was funny.</p><p class="western">"I don't have a beard yet," Maglor interjected.</p><p class="western">"How old are you then, Lindir?", Bilbo wanted to know. "Yesterday you seemed as if you had seen the swords before. But Gondolin existed so long ago!"</p><p class="western">"I come from the West. Within me shines the power of the Old World and I have seen the light of the Two Trees. I know Aman before its darkening," Maglor said.</p><p class="western">Bilbo's eyes lit up. "Then you have witnessed all the wonders of the old time. Have you been to Gondolin and seen it?"</p><p class="western">What was it that everyone found in Gondolin? It had been Turgon's hubris and his downfall. Full of pride, his cousin had clung to it and had gone down with his city rather than save his life. What a fool. He had got what he deserved.</p><p class="western">"No," Maglor said tersely. "I only saw Glamdring and Orcriþt once in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. But I do not wish to speak of that."</p><p class="western">"I see." Bilbo nodded, not really understanding. "But actually I came because I have some questions about your music. Gandalf had told us about you before we came to the Vale, and he really wasn't exaggerating. I've always thought Elvish music was special, but I think you're special even among your own kind. I understand a bit of Elvish too, although I have to admit that my knowledge is only from books and of course I lack practical application. But your accent, it's kind of strange."</p><p class="western">"It's not me who speaks with an accent, it's everyone else," Maglor explained. "I speak as King Finwe once spoke before he was misguided, for that alone is correct. We in the elder house honour that form. The others can do no better."</p><p class="western">"<em>Adar</em> speaks like that sometimes too," Estel interjected. "But usually only when he is angry. Ceomon and Rethtulu also lisp. I think all the old elves do it."</p><p class="western">"If you keep it up, I'll make up a mocking song about you, cheeky rascal," Maglor threatened teasingly. "There, look. I already have a whole collection about your brothers." He pointed to a booklet with all his songs about Elladan and Elrohir.</p><p class="western">Estel stuck his tongue out at him.</p><p class="western">Bilbo pulled something out of his pocket. "Well, be that as it may. I tried to translate the song you sang last night, and I'd like to know what you think of it."</p><p class="western">Maglor looked at the translation. Testily, he struck some notes on one of the harps and sang the appropriate line. He wrote a few comments on the text, then handed the note back to Bilbo.<br/>"You have a good grasp of the Quenya for someone who only learned it from books," he said.</p><p class="western">Bilbo smiled sheepishly. "Thank you. I had thought about maybe translating more songs from Elvish. I liked it and would like to take a collection of songs back to Bag End."</p><p class="western">Maglor considered for a moment. Then he reached for a stack of parchments and selected one. He handed it to Bilbo. "Try your hand at this. This is a song about the fall of Gil-galad, written by one of my students."</p><p class="western">Bilbo skimmed the lines. "It is a beautiful but sad song. He was the last Elven king, wasn't he?"</p><p class="western">"You will find the last remnants of his kingdom here in Imladriþ, Elrond keeps his crown and regalia, that is all that is left of the heritage of the High Kings of the line of Finwe."</p><p class="western">Bilbo sighed. "Somehow that saddens me, you must know. I have only been here in Rivendell a few days, but yet I sense that memories of glorious days long past are kept here. Memories of a magnificent time that is now gone from the world."</p><p class="western">Maglor said nothing to this.</p><p class="western">"What is your story, Lindir?", Bilbo now wanted to know. "Where did you learn to work such wonders with music?"</p><p class="western">Maglor smiled. "No miracles, just a little practice. I had plenty of time. Once even the Valar themselves asked me to play for them in Valimar."</p><p class="western">"The Valar!" said Bilbo incredulously. "Then why are you here?"</p><p class="western">"You seem to know a little of the history of my people," said Maglor evasively. "Then you know of our rebellion against the Valar. We dreamed of our own realms here in the Hither Shores and were mighty and proud lords. But in the end, that dream turned bitter. And I ... I wandered."</p><p class="western">Bilbo seemed to sense that he did not want to pursue this subject any further. "Can you tell me about Earendil?" he asked instead. "I have read quite a bit about him, and I am interested in his story."<br/>Maglor looked at him piercingly. The hobbit squirmed under his gaze. "We do not speak of him in this house. You would do better not to mention him again."</p><p class="western">Bilbo cleared his throat sheepishly. "Oh ... Well, in that case ..." Then he hastily pointed to Maglor's great harp. "That's a real work of art. It must be worth a fortune. Do the tree motifs have any meaning?"<br/>Maglor stroked the wood lovingly. "Laurelin and Telperion, the Two Trees of Valinor. I have tried so many times to capture their splendour in my music, but it is impossible. There is no language in this world that could describe them. And now their light is lost to this world forever."</p><p class="western">"Do all your harps have such fantastic motifs?"</p><p class="western">"No. Most of them are just pretty. This one is special, though, a replica of my old harp that I had been famous for back in Valinor."</p><p class="western">He had named it Makalaure, after himself, but he of course didn't tell Bilbo that.</p><p class="western">Bilbo approached the shelves and studied the books they contained. "You've written them all too, I see. So much!"</p><p class="western">"Well, I've had plenty of time." Maglor smirked.</p><p class="western">Bilbo pulled one of the works from the shelf and flicked through the pages. A smile settled on his face. "Nursery rhymes about two little stars, how heartwarming. Do you have children, Lindir?"</p><p class="western">Maglor thought of Elros and the pain he would probably never be able to overcome. "Yes and no," he said softly. "They were twins, but one of them died long ago."</p><p class="western">"Oh, how terrible. My condolences," Bilbo said. "And how is the other?"</p><p class="western">Maglor was interrupted in his reply when the doorbell sounded again and Elrond entered. He saw Estel and gave him a stern look.The boy, after all, had enough decorum to look embarrassed. Bilbo bowed hurriedly. Elrond recognised the book the hobbit was holding, but managed to cover his embarrassment very well.</p><p class="western">"Estel, be so kind as to lead Master Baggins back to the house," he said instead. "And after that I want to see you with Erestor without delay."</p><p class="western">"Yes, adar," Estel mumbled and strode away with his head bowed, followed by Bilbo after he had placed the book back on the counter.</p><p class="western">When they had gone, Elrond pointed to the book. "Don't leave that lying around in the open like that. It's embarrassing!"</p><p class="western">Maglor couldn't help grinning. "After all, no one knows that I wrote the songs for you when you were little. But speak. What do you need, <em>onya</em>?"</p><p class="western">Elrond turned serious. "The council will be here soon and they want to judge you. I am sorry, <em>atto</em>, but I could not convince them otherwise."</p><p class="western">Maglor felt the blood freeze in his veins. But somehow he managed to keep his composure. He stepped towards Elrond and put his hands on his shoulders. "It is not you who must be sorry, but I, for I have dragged you into this."</p><p class="western">"I will do what I can for you, <em>atto</em>."</p><p class="western">Maglor pulled him into his arms. "Don't be a fool, <em>onya</em>. You have nothing to do with my crimes. Don't risk everything for an old elf like me."</p><p class="western">"But you are my father!" said Elrond firmly. "We are family, we stick together. I won't let them take you away from me again. They must know that."</p><p class="western">Maglor tried to put his worries to the back of his mind. It was of the utmost importance that he prevented Elrond from getting caught in the middle. He had never had anything to do with the Oath, he should not suffer its consequences. Everything else was beside the point.</p><p class="western">"Come, let us go. Let's not put it off," he said and proudly walked out of his workshop with his head held high.</p><p class="western">He was still Maglor Makalaure Kanafinwe Feanárion, heir to the most powerful house of the Noldor and the greatest singer who had ever raised his voice in Arda. Together with his brothers, he had challenged the Valar themselves and faced the Black Enemy. With them he had made Middle-earth his subject and defended it against Morgoth for many years. He had fought in many battles and won glory in slaying Uldor the traitor.</p><p class="western">He would certainly not kowtow to his cousin, an old elf and two Istari.</p><p class="western">The meeting took place in the eastern cellar. To Maglor's displeasure, he was kept waiting for his turn to discuss how to deal with him, and when the time finally came, it was already approaching evening. He stepped through the door.</p><p class="western">Galadriel rose when she saw him and stepped towards him. Disbelief was etched on her face. "Makalaure. I never thought I would see you again, of all people."</p><p class="western">"The pleasure is all mine, Artaniþ," he replied coolly.</p><p class="western">He knew her well enough to recognise her displeasure at his accent. Some things, indeed, never changed.</p><p class="western">"This is not a happy family gathering, but a matter of great importance," Círdan reminded the council.</p><p class="western">Elegant as ever, Galadriel glided back to her seat and sat down again. Her face did not show what she was thinking, and even her thoughts were well veiled.</p><p class="western">Maglor looked round. Elrond looked as if he wished to get this over with as quickly as possible. Círdan looked at Maglor with open hostility. Only what to make of Gandalf and Saruman Maglor did not really know. Surprisingly, even Galadriel had not yet reduced him to a heap of ash with Celebrimbor's third ring. Perhaps Elrond was right after all, and he was not entirely correct in his assessment of the situation. But the presence of Ainur could never be a good sign.</p><p class="western">"Prince Makalaure, you are here to be judged for your past crimes," Saruman opened. "Though Lord Elrond should have told us of your presence here long ago, let that be put aside for now."</p><p class="western">"You have disobeyed the word of Manwe. Likewise you are guilty of theft, murder and kidnapping," Círdan enumerated. "Do you plead guilty?"</p><p class="western">"I am the only one who may judge whether he is really guilty of kidnapping," Elrond immediately interjected, "and therefore the only one who can accuse him on that point."</p><p class="western">"Which you will not do," Círdan concluded. It was not a question.</p><p class="western">"Of course not."</p><p class="western">"Well then. The other counts of the indictment still stand," Círdan said, turning back to Maglor.</p><p class="western">"Theft as well?" the latter asked mockingly. "I don't think I need to repeat my oath, it should be known in its wording to all present. The definition of theft includes the unfair appropriation of another's property. I merely took what was mine anyway."</p><p class="western">"That begs the question why the <em>silmaril</em> nevertheless burned your hands if it was supposedly still your property," Círdan replied. "Apparently the verdict had already been passed in this matter and it contradicts your opinion."</p><p class="western">"If the verdict has already been given, there is no need for this farce here anyway," Maglor remarked casually.</p><p class="western">Elrond gave him a meaningful look. "<em>Atto, please. Forget your pride for once.</em>"</p><p class="western">"The laws of the Eldar forbid murder," Círdan said icily. "You have been guilty of that crime three times."</p><p class="western">Maglor simply could not keep to himself as he corrected him, "Four times. That much accuracy has to be. To Olwe's apology, it must be said that he had not yet been able to gauge how binding the oath was. Dior was a child who did not know what he was doing. And the fool Elwing ... Well, she received a warning and yet did not hand over her stolen goods, although she was well aware of the consequences. What I have to say about Eonwe is not necessarily pleasant either."</p><p class="western">"This is no time for false pride and mockery," Gandalf spoke up for the first time. "Makalaure, you know what is at stake for you. The laws speak clearly."</p><p class="western">Now Elrond stood up and stepped to Maglor's side. "Indeed they do," he began. "I will not gloss over Maglor's actions, for I am well aware of them, and I agree that such things must not go unpunished. However, I too am a lord of the Eldar, some would even say Gil-galad's heir, and in this house my word is law. And so I say that he has received his just punishment. Six thousand years of wandering and loneliness is a punishment harsh enough. No punishment in this world will bring back the lives he has taken. He has suffered enough for what he did."</p><p class="western">Maglor put a hand on his arm to stop him, but Elrond only looked at him sternly. What had become of the small frightened boy who did not understand what was happening around him? He had indeed become a powerful lord.</p><p class="western">"My Lord Elrond, I fear that your judgement is biased by your history with the one accused here," Saruman said straightforwardly. "I therefore question your judgement."</p><p class="western">"No, Elrond is right," Galadriel said to everyone's astonishment. "No one here can truly measure what Makalaure had suffered in the time since the First Age, and his conscience alone is punishment enough for what he did. It is inexcusable what he did, but he alone probably knows the best punishment for it. Who would we be if we did not show even a little mercy now and then? Heartless creatures, no better than the enemy, that is what we would be. That is not what I called this council into being for."</p><p class="western">Maglor looked at her, speechless. That was the last thing he would have expected: Galadriel, of all people, taking his side.</p><p class="western">"<em>Astonished, cousin?</em>" she asked in his thoughts. "S<em>urely you would not have seriously believed that I would let my daughter marry one of you if I did not know that for all your arrogance you still retained a spark of decency within you.</em>"</p><p class="western">"<em>Then I have wronged you, Artaniþ. Please forgive me.</em>"</p><p class="western">"<em>That was done long ago.</em>"</p><p class="western">"Yet Manwe's Doom still weighs upon Makalaure," Saruman said. "This we cannot ignore, and he is the King of Kings. He is above the laws of Middle-earth. Therefore, in the end, it is not for this Council to judge him, but to send him to the West to stand before Manwe and answer for his shameful deeds."</p><p class="western">Círdan nodded. "This is indeed not to be dismissed. I agree."</p><p class="western">Maglor sensed something. It was barely perceptible and almost slipped away. A subtle magic was at work here, a power that sought to convince, not to deceive. And it was in Saruman's voice. He wanted to warn Elrond, but the latter seemed to have noticed it too.</p><p class="western">"My Lord Saruman, it seems to me that you are trying to convince this Council of your personal views, rather than hearing both sides and weighing their arguments against each other, as would be the Council's duty," Elrond said. "It may be true that the judgement was never rescinded, but it has long since come to pass. And the fact that it never applied to me, although the spell also spoke of all those who followed the Feanorians, should surely show that it may no longer be as binding as you would have us believe."</p><p class="western">"It is understandable, of course, that you speak for the good of Makalaure," Saruman conceded generously, "yet even you are not above the word of the King in the West, as whose messenger I came to Middle-earth."</p><p class="western">Gandalf stirred. "Saruman, you entangle yourself in your own words," he said quietly. "You use your tricks on the wrong person. Truly you speak no falsehoods, but you give your words more weight than they possess. As it seems, the judgment is now in my hands, and I say that indeed it is not for this Council to pass judgment. This was done long ago and the punishment has come to an end. I even say that we should allow Prince Makalaure to do something good for this world again. Makalaure, you are capable of powerful spells, perhaps even more powerful than that of Findaráto. Sauron rightly feared him, so what about you?"</p><p class="western">"Gandalf, you are actually considering taking him to Dol Guldur?" retorted Saruman. "No good had ever come from his deeds, they had only ever benefited the enemy. This will happen again. He will work with the enemy. And do not forget the treasure in Erebor. We cannot allow this kinslayer anywhere near it. History has shown often enough what happens when he does."</p><p class="western">Maglor felt the magic in Saruman's voice as it surged and struggled. But the more it reared its head, the weaker it became. Maglor laughed out. The magic dissipated.</p><p class="western">"If you really believe that, then you never knew me well!" he proclaimed. "No one hates the Black Enemy more than we Feanorians. He took everything from us! He sowed lies and mistrust among us, slew our king, my grandfather, and stole our most precious treasure. Even Morgoth feared our wrath and trembled before us, and Þauron is but a faint shadow of his master. And as for this treasure: only yesterday Thorin trumpeted that he alone was entitled to my brother's <em>þilmaril</em>, without knowing of what he spoke. Indeed, if I were still so bent on fulfilling my oath, I would probably have slain him on the spot, even before he had finished speaking. Or at least that is what you would have us believe. But it seems to me that you are not as cunning as you would have the world believe, Curumo. You knowingly throw away a powerful weapon against the enemy simply because I am inconvenient for you. That is why you are so bent on deporting me to the West. There is only one catch to your plan: that path is closed to me. There is no way back for me, the Valar are certainly not that merciful with me."</p><p class="western">Círdan blinked, as if shaking off a long fatigue. "I am surprised to have to say this. But I agree with you. If it turns out to be correct that the necromancer in Dol Guldur is Sauron, then we would do well to field every force against him that we can get hold of."</p><p class="western">So they were indeed planning an attack on that cursed place. No matter what Saruman said, Maglor had to accompany Elrond if he intended to go there, everything else could wait! Even the <em>silmaril</em>.</p><p class="western">Maglor wondered where this thought had come from. It was new and it felt good.</p><p class="western">"So be it, then," Saruman said. "There are powers at work in this world that are above us. Let them judge Prince Makalaure."</p><p class="western">It took Maglor a moment to realise what Saruman had said. Despite everything, he had somehow still expected his fate to befall him here and now. He had expected it so firmly that he could not immediately comprehend that it would be over so easily. That he was indeed free.</p><p class="western">Elrond smiled at him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next chapter is a little intermezzo and a nice midsumer party. Though even that cannot go without some angst. Oh, and pipe weed, of course.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Midsummer's Eve</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The inhabitants of Rivendell celebrate Midsummer's Eve and Maglor gets to taste some Old Toby. He's not convinced.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>First of all sorry for the delay. Life interferes a lot lately and I didn't find the energy to translate the chapter. But thank you so much for your feedback on the last chapter! I'm glad you liked it, for I found it somewhat difficult to write. As a treat take some smoking Maglor.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Maglor stared at his sword as if it were Morgoth Bauglir himself, who had just slain Finwe with it.</p><p class="western">"Now take it at last, <em>atto</em>," Elrond urged him again. "I will certainly not let you go there bare-handed."</p><p class="western">"Why have you not destroyed that accursed thing long ago?" demanded Maglor. "Throw it away, I will most certainly never pick up a weapon again."</p><p class="western">"And what will you do then? Throw stones at the enemy? The orcs will surely drop dead laughing."</p><p class="western">"Singing. That's why Olórin wants me along so badly, isn't it? I'm sure Þauron will be happy to hear me serenading him."</p><p class="western">Elrond gave him a stern look and continued to hold the sword out to him. How Maglor hated that look. As if Maedhros would stand before him again and scold his little brother. Maglor sighed and accepted the sword with pointed fingers.</p><p class="western">"No one should trust me with weapons anymore," he said softly.</p><p class="western">"And likewise no one can expect you to face the enemy unarmed," Elrond countered.</p><p class="western">"Do you not then share Curumo's concerns about the <em>þilmaril</em>? When Thorin mentioned him unsuspectingly, you seemed concerned."</p><p class="western">"You are wiser than that," Elrond retorted, trying to sound more confident than he was. "I know it. You won't make the same mistake twice. And besides, no one but the dwarves have seen the Arkenstone. It's just a guess."</p><p class="western">"That's where you're wrong, <em>onya</em>," Maglor said bitterly. "I must know. I must have certainty. I will go with you to Dol Guldur, but then I will look at this Arkenstone."</p><p class="western">Elrond looked at him anxiously. "And then? What will happen then? Will you leave me as you did before?"</p><p class="western">The hurt in his gaze stung Maglor. He knew, after all, how much Elrond suffered from separations. "I do not know ..." he murmured. "I don't know what will happen then."</p><p class="western">He stared at his gloved hands. In all these years and despite all Elrond's efforts, nothing had changed after all. His wounds still hurt him every time he used his hands, the old pain that had become the most loyal of companions. But underneath ... Underneath, nothing burned any more. Underneath, nothing drove him forward with brute force any more.</p><p class="western">That was strange.</p><p class="western">"I don't trust Curumo," he changed the subject. "He has his own agenda, though I don't know what that might be."</p><p class="western">"Normally I would disagree with you, but after what happened yesterday, I'm not so sure about that either," Elrond said. "Saruman presides over the Council, but it seems to me that he has plans of his own in mind that do not necessarily coincide with ours. It was a long time before he agreed with us about taking action against the power in Dol Guldur."</p><p class="western">"Tell me about it. I know such councils have a penchant for secrecy, but if Olórin insists on taking me there, I should at least be on the same level of knowledge as you."</p><p class="western">"It is not much," Elrond conceded. "Nearly two thousand years ago, a shadow settled over Eryn Galen and drove Thranduil's Silvan Elves north. The people of the forest began to call the power that settled in Dol Guldur the Necromancer, for he seems to have power over the spirits of the dead. We have long feared that none other than Sauron might be hiding behind it. Mithrandir already went once to Dol Guldur, but he could find nothing. Galadriel also worked from Lórien against the Shadow in the southern Mirkwood, but so far Saruman had always overruled us when we discussed whether or not to act against it."</p><p class="western">"Why is it different now? What has changed?"</p><p class="western">"I don't know. Perhaps it has something to do with the dwarves and their journey. Mithrandir wants to prevent the Shadow in the Mirkwood and Smaug from joining forces, though I don't know how he plans to accomplish that."</p><p class="western">It all sounded too daring to Maglor. "And you trust him?"</p><p class="western">"Him, yes. Saruman ... I suppose that's another matter."</p><p class="western">"And that shadow is very likely Þauron."</p><p class="western">"Well, we can't be absolutely sure at this point, but I'm assuming. Mithrandir and Galadriel agree with me on that."</p><p class="western">At this Maglor fell silent, looking first at the sword in his hands and then at Elrond. "I am not comfortable with the idea of letting you go there."</p><p class="western">For some reason Elrond had to smile and put a hand on Maglor's shoulder. "Need I remind you that I am no longer a child? I have spent most of my life working against the enemy. And besides, I have had two very good teachers."</p><p class="western">Of course, Maglor still resisted. He would probably never stop worrying about his little Peredhel. But then he had to smile. Elrond was indeed not that little any more.</p><p class="western">"We will make Þauron fear us," Maglor said with a grim smile.</p><p class="western">Elrond returned it. "That's how I like you. Now come. Let us celebrate Midsummer."</p><p class="western">Maglor placed his sword in a corner in his chambers, then together they walked down to the river, where many elves had already gathered. There was dancing and singing and laughter. The starlight glittered like thousands of diamonds in the water of the Bruinen. Maglor, of course, had brought his old harp, which had accompanied him through all the years of his wanderings. He struck a few notes and began to sing.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>A Elbereth Gilthoniel</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>þilivren penna míriel</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>o menel aglar elenath!</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Na-chaered palan-díriel</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>o galadhremmin ennorath,</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Fanuiloþ, le linnathon</span>
</p><p class="western">nef aear, <span>þ</span>í nef aearon!</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He noticed that Gandalf was also present with the dwarves and Bilbo. The Hobbit watched the dancing Elves with delight, while the Dwarves were a little too obviously trying not to enjoy it. When Gandalf heard Maglor's song, he beckoned him to join him.</p><p class="western">Gandalf smoked a pipe. Maglor had known this habit among the Dúnedain, but had never been able to comprehend it. As he came closer, however, Gandalf handed him his pipe.</p><p class="western">"Here, have a taste," he offered.</p><p class="western">Maglor looked sceptically at the pipe and then waved it away. "Thank you very much, but no. I don't think it would do my voice any good."</p><p class="western">Gandalf did not let up. "I insist."</p><p class="western">By now Bilbo had also noticed that Maglor had come, and joined him. "Hello, Lindir. I'm glad you've come too! This is Old Toby, Gandalf got it from me. I can only recommend it!"</p><p class="western">Maglor now also looked sceptically down at the Hobbit. Since Gandalf still didn't let up, he finally reached for the pipe. How had Aragost done it? He had somehow puffed on the stem. Like this, perhaps?</p><p class="western">An acrid smoke got into his lungs, brought tears to his eyes and made him cough gaggingly. Gandalf laughed into his beard. Maglor gave him an indignant look and piqued handed him back the pipe.</p><p class="western">"Clearly not beneficial to my voice," he said in a vain attempt to regain his dignity.</p><p class="western">Behind him, Elrond laughed.</p><p class="western">As Thorin started music on his harp, Maglor found a wonderful opportunity to escape this awkward situation.</p><p class="western">"No, no, no!" he cried, rushing to the dwarves. "No elegance at all! This is not the way to do it! Look here."</p><p class="western">Without further ado, he sat down beside Thorin with his own harp and played the tune the dwarf had started. Thorin watched him with narrowed eyes.</p><p class="western">"So?" the dwarf finally said. "What's so great about it now?"</p><p class="western">"The movements have to be fluid," Maglor explained, leaning emphatically into his movements as he coaxed a succession of melodious notes from his harp. "You yank on the strings as if they were a fishing line. The art of harp playing is not to pluck the right strings at the right time, but to feel the music in your whole body. Only then does it come alive. Look."</p><p class="western">Maglor intoned the <em>aerlinn</em> again. His voice carried far across the valley, and its golden sound rivalled the silver brilliance of the stars. He made sure Thorin was watching him well, after all, he was giving him an important lesson here.</p><p class="western">As he finished, one of the other dwarves stirred. It was the white-haired one, Balin, if Maglor remembered correctly.</p><p class="western">"A pretty serenade," Balin said. "But we dwarves sing our songs a little differently."</p><p class="western">He cleared his throat, then intoned a slow, sustained melody. Gradually the other dwarves joined in. Maglor listened to them for a few verses and when he had a feel for the melody, he joined in with his harp.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Far over the misty mountains cold</p><p class="western">To dungeons deep and caverns old</p><p class="western">We must away ere break of day</p><p class="western">To seek the pale enchanted gold.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,</p><p class="western">While hammers fell like ringing bells</p><p class="western">In places deep, where dark things sleep,</p><p class="western">In hollow halls beneath the fells.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">For ancient king and elvish lord</p><p class="western">There many a gleaming golden hoard</p><p class="western">They shaped and wrought, and light they caught</p><p class="western">To hide in gems on hilt of sword.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">On silver necklaces they strung</p><p class="western">The flowering stars, on crowns they hung</p><p class="western">The dragon-fire, in twisted wire</p><p class="western">They meshed the light of moon and sun.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Far over the misty mountains cold</p><p class="western">To dungeons deep and caverns old</p><p class="western">We must away, ere break of day,</p><p class="western">To claim our long-forgotten gold.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Goblets they carved there for themselves</p><p class="western">And harps of gold; where no man delves</p><p class="western">There lay they long, and many a song</p><p class="western">Was sung unheard by men or elves.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The pines were roaring on the height,</p><p class="western">The winds were moaning in the night.</p><p class="western">The fire was red, it flaming spread;</p><p class="western">The trees like torches blazed with light.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The bells were ringing in the dale</p><p class="western">And men looked up with faces pale;</p><p class="western">Then dragon’s ire more fierce than fire</p><p class="western">Laid low their towers and houses frail.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The mountain smoked beneath the moon;</p><p class="western">The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom.</p><p class="western">They fled their hall, to dying fall</p><p class="western">Beneath his feet, beneath the moon.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Far over the misty mountains grim</p><p class="western">To dungeons deep and caverns dim</p><p class="western">We must away, ere break of day,</p><p class="western">To win our harps and gold from him!</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Maglor let the notes fade out. Now it was his turn to concede: "A pretty verse. Perhaps I can learn a thing or two from the dwarves."</p><p class="western">"We will leave soon," Thorin replied. "Our rest here is drawing to a close; it has been long enough anyway."</p><p class="western">"But at least for this midsummer night you shall rest," Maglor decided, and sang another song.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The next morning Gandalf set out with the dwarves. Peace returned to the house. Maglor watched their progress from his balcony, humming the melody of their song to himself. Its heaviness and weariness had appealed to him, even if the content did not please him too much; he was not a friend of dwarves and their love for riches and had never been able to understand Caranthir's attraction to these little bearded men.</p><p class="western">There was a soft knock on the door to his chambers and before he could invite his visitor in, Galadriel stepped through the door. Maglor watched her silently, wondering why she had come.</p><p class="western">"I'm afraid we haven't had a chance to speak," Galadriel began.</p><p class="western">The radiance of her hair had lost none of its beauty in all these years. Maglor caught himself thinking about capturing the sight in song.</p><p class="western">"How is Arwen?" he wanted to know. "Does she intend to return soon?"</p><p class="western">"She has told me some things about you," she opened. "Oh, don't look at me so surprised, cousin. Of course she has. You are her grandfather, just as I am her grandmother. She couldn't have kept it from me anyway, and she knows it."</p><p class="western">"And yet you haven't said anything to anyone. Why?"</p><p class="western">"Why should I? You've seen what the council is like. Everyone pursues their own agenda and most of all Curumo. That's not what I had in mind when I started this Council. So surely I'm allowed this little joke to surprise the old men."</p><p class="western">"You certainly succeeded in that surprise. But tell me, Artaniþ, why did you support me? The last time we saw each other, it was not necessarily under too pleasant conditions."</p><p class="western">Galadriel waved it off. "Oh, let's not talk about Doriath any more. Maybe I'm just a little sentimental."</p><p class="western">"For some reason I can't believe that, you, Artaniþ, who stood proudly among us when we rebelled against the Valar, and were all too willing to leave Aman behind to subjugate your own realm."</p><p class="western">"And here I stand, the Witch of the Golden Forest, with all these years weighing heavily on my shoulders. Laurelindórenan is but a faint echo of the gardens of Irmo and Este. I know you feel it too."</p><p class="western">Maglor nodded. "If only it were the weight of the years."</p><p class="western">"And there you have your answer. You still have a conscience, and that conscience troubles you more than any punishment this Council could have devised for you."</p><p class="western">Maglor bowed. "You are showing more kindness than I deserve, Artaniþ."</p><p class="western">She jutted her chin. "Now if you could only stop butchering my name like that, I might even like you a wee bit."</p><p class="western">He smiled. "I'm afraid I can't give in on this one thing. As a consolation, will you allow me to compose a song about your hair?"</p><p class="western">"As long as you don't want to snatch a sample like your father, I can't stop you anyway."</p><p class="western">She was right, as usual. "I would never dare. <em>Atar</em> burnt his hands once, I certainly won't make his mistake a second time."</p><p class="western">Galadriel laughed. "I certainly hope so for your sake. But now, please excuse me. It was nice talking to you again, cousin."</p><p class="western">Without giving him a chance to respond, she turned to leave. Maglor looked after her questioningly. Galadriel had never liked the Feanorians. This conversation had not helped answer his questions. What was she up to? He could not believe that sentimentality had indeed simply gripped her.</p><p class="western">When she had already opened the door, she paused once more. She hesitated as if considering what to do. Then she turned.</p><p class="western">"The whole truth is," she began, "that it wasn't just sentimentality. Nor did I do it for your sake. It was for Elrond." Then she left.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A Elbereth Gilthoniel by J.R.R. Tolkien in The Lord of the Rings<br/>Far over the misty mountains cold by J.R.R. Tolkien in The Hobbit<br/>____________<br/>Next chapter contains an epic rap battle of history!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. The Necromancer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The White Council prepares to launch an attack on Dol Guldur and makes a huge discovery about the identity of the Necromancer.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Over the next three weeks, they prepared their departure. The Lord was leaving the Valley, and that was something that had not happened for many years. Elladan and Elrohir stood in for him in his absence and Glorfindel pulled out all the stops to ensure the safety of the Valley. The twins promised not to cause too much chaos, but Maglor knew they could handle things with the appropriate seriousness when it came down to it. They would probably still pull a prank or two.</p><p class="western">Elrond found a suit of armour for Maglor in his armoury and had it fitted for him. Maglor's own armour, once forged for him by his father, had been lost long ago, and nothing in this world would ever come close to that quality again, but in this short time it was the best Elrond could organise. He even insisted on having the star engraved on the breastplate and fleshed out with Ithildin.</p><p class="western">Elrond himself dusted off his old armour. Maglor was glad that it had still survived Elrond. He remembered well the last weeks on Amon Ereb when Maedhros had stood for days in his forge working on this armour and its twin. It had cost him a fortune to raise all the mithril it had taken. Elrond had, of course, kept the star engraving that Maedhros had incorporated.</p><p class="western">They had decided on the route over the Redhorn Pass and through Lórien. Maglor was nervous at the thought of entering Galadriel's realm, but he also saw that this would be the best way.</p><p class="western">So they set off south. Maglor noticed the tense mood of the group, especially Saruman, who always treated him with suspicion. At least that was mutual. Maglor decided that he had better keep an eye on the Istar, as he still did not know his true motives. In earlier times, he had occasionally visited Aule's forges with his brothers, back when they had all been unaware that Mairon, Aule's master student, had long been in league with the Black Enemy. Curumo, also a student of Aule, had often been seen in Mairon's shadow. He had to know him well, his strengths and weaknesses and his way of thinking.</p><p class="western">So why did Maglor feel that Saruman was playing a false game with them?</p><p class="western">Maglor passed the time by playing his golden harp and trying to capture the glow of Galadriel's hair in his music, though he was not satisfied with any of his songs. Secretly, however, he brooded over Saruman.</p><p class="western">The land around them was empty and vast. Unusual, Maglor thought. But perhaps it was their presence that scared away hostile creatures; they were not exactly inconspicuous, an Istar, two Noldor from Aman, and Círdan and Elrond, who carried Vilya. Still, this silence was not to Maglor's liking. He remained vigilant.</p><p class="western">And Maglor noticed something else. Elrond tried to hide it and he might be able to deceive the others, but not his father. He feared what lay at the end of their path. Not what they might find in Dol Guldur, but what would happen afterwards. Again and again he unobtrusively tried to dissuade Maglor, but Maglor evaded the conversation. He could not bear the hurt look on Elrond's face and at the same time this matter gave him no peace.</p><p class="western">The summer was mild and their journey south was pleasant. Eventually they turned east and began the ascent into the mountains. Snow was only on the highest peaks of the Misty Mountains these days, and so it was an easy walk. Maglor was definitely used to worse from Himring.</p><p class="western">The sun shone bright and warm that day as the pass led them out of the mountains again and the wild east of Middle-earth lay before them. The Golden Forest shone in the distance. Maglor pulled the hood of his cloak deeper into his face.</p><p class="western">They hurried along and reached Lórien that very evening. Maglor felt the magic that lay upon these woods and had to think of Melian. Galadriel had indeed learned much from her.</p><p class="western">There was an inevitable clash when Celeborn welcomed them and recognised Maglor. So Arwen had told him nothing of her grandfather. At least Celeborn had enough decency not to make a scene, yet Maglor could see his anger. He glared down at the Sinda.</p><p class="western">"You are wise, Lady Galadriel, yet I do not agree in letting him into our realm," Celeborn proclaimed. "To add to that, armed as he is for battle. He poses a danger. Why was I not informed of this?"<br/>Maglor acknowledged him that he did not relent under his gaze. He himself refrained from saying anything.</p><p class="western">"This is no place to discuss this," Galadriel replied. "The Council has decided to take action against the Shadow in Mirkwood, and he shall assist us. It would not be wise to let such an opportunity go to waste."</p><p class="western">"And yet he is a murderer who steps armed into my realm."</p><p class="western">Elrond stepped forward. "I will vouch for him."</p><p class="western">Celeborn was silent on this for a long time. But finally he nodded and bowed to Galadriel. Maglor did not believe that the last word had been spoken on the matter, but for the moment Celeborn did indeed give peace. Maglor did his best to behave decently.</p><p class="western">Arwen was glad to see her father and grandfather again. Elrond did not say much about why they had come and Arwen seemed content to do so. Instead, she proudly showed them her latest embroidery work. She was quite talented with her needlework, and Elrond was all the proud father.</p><p class="western">Even though they did not stay long in Lórien, Maglor kept to himself during this time and did not even play his songs. He certainly did not want to attract attention, fearing that there might still be some Elves who had survived him back in Doriath. It was bad enough that he had already incurred the wrath of Celeborn, who was further miffed because Galadriel and Arwen had kept this secret from him. Maglor only hoped that he would not take it out on Arwen, because then he could no longer promise not to do anything rash.</p><p class="western">But time was pressing and the agreed meeting place with Gandalf was approaching. Only a few days later they left Lórien again. Maglor could not deny that he was glad not to have to feel Celeborn's wrath permanently. He was clearly not as forgiving as Galadriel.</p><p class="western">Ahead of them lay Mirkwood and it had indeed earned its name. Maglor remembered Taur-nu-Fuin in Dorthonion and the terrors that had woven their webs in the shadows of the trees after Sauron had moved there. This had great similarities to what had happened in the First Age.</p><p class="western">Once this had been a green, light-filled forest full of life. Elrond told him that here had been the gardens of the Entwives before Sauron had burnt them at the end of the Second Age. They had been frequent visitors to the woods, bringing the fruits of their fields to the Nandor who had lived here. Amon Lanc had once been the centre of Oroper's realm, now it was a place of shadow and terror.</p><p class="western">Dol Guldur hid behind a veil of darkness. Eternal night seemed to reign here. All life in the far vicinity had long since fled and the trees were filled with the malice that seeped from these walls like poison. Over all these years, the poison had infiltrated the entire forest, corrupting it and turning it wild. Elrond said it was not so bad in the north, where Thranduil's influence still reigned, but here in the south the malice seeped from every pore of the forest.</p><p class="western">All was silent and that was the most alarming thing of all.</p><p class="western">"Where is Mithrandir?" spoke Círdan what they were all thinking.</p><p class="western">"He has already gone ahead," Saruman said simply. Then he stepped onto the bridge that spanned a deep, dark chasm and thrust his staff to the ground.</p><p class="western">"<em>Náhaman cala!</em>" he exclaimed, and a bright flash of light went out from his staff. Bats swooped out in the distance over Dol Guldur. The veils of mist billowed and trembled, but they did not crack.</p><p class="western">Galadriel stepped forward and all at once a bright light sprang from her hand. A gale-force wind blew in and together they tore open the poisonous haze and dispelled it.</p><p class="western">Maglor struck his harp and its golden tone blended with the light and the wind. Like ribbons of brilliant sunlight, his music carried high into the air to the highest towers of Dol Guldur. It wound around the shadows and drove them back.</p><p class="western">"<em>Auta i lóme! Aure entuluva!</em>" he chanted.</p><p class="western">But it was not enough. The shadows were strong, far stronger than his music. They reared up against him, encircled him, harried him. Maglor's fingers slid nimbly over the strings, but he alone would not be able to stand, no matter how masterfully he played. A disharmony came from the harmony of his melody, twisting the notes and turning them into something dark that rebelled against its creator. Maglor felt his music slipping away from him more and more. A strong will, stronger than his and imbued with midnight-black malice, stood behind the dissonance, slowly but relentlessly pushing back Maglor's golden music.</p><p class="western">At that moment Elrond leapt to his side, sword drawn in his hands, and with him came the storm. He joined in Maglor's chant. "<em>Uryá cala! Ruca morna!</em>"</p><p class="western">And lo, a voice answered them from the depths of Dol Guldur.</p><p class="western">"<em>Utúlië'n aure!</em>"</p><p class="western">And the darkness shattered.</p><p class="western">The shadows crashed down upon Maglor. He went on the ground, clutching his head and crying out. Sauron was in his thoughts.</p><p class="western">"Makalaure," he whispered. "The last of your blood. Cursed and damned. I will take everything from you. You are granted no joy in this life. Eternal darkness alone awaits you. Middle-earth is mine and I will take all that you hold dear. Nothing will remain but my fires, which will burn the last thing you have left. Darkness will overtake Middle-earth."</p><p class="western">Maglor saw the fires that engulfed Imladris. He saw Elrond in chains, tortured and broken. He saw Arwen in her own blood, the twins struck down. And Maglor saw their blood on his hands.</p><p class="western">He screamed.</p><p class="western">Sauron laughed.</p><p class="western">"<em>Utúlië'n aure!</em>" commanded Gandalf again.</p><p class="western">Glaring light streamed over Dol Guldur, sweeping away the last shadows. A shrill cry rang out and a huge shadowy figure rose from the ruins of Dol Guldur and fled south.</p><p class="western">"<em>Atto!</em>" cried Elrond, rushing to him. "<em>Atto</em>, are you all right? What happened?"</p><p class="western">Maglor was breathing heavily, but apart from that he was himself again. He shook off the last of the weakness in his limbs. A sickening feeling. His heart was still racing, but it soon calmed down again.</p><p class="western">"Yes, I'm all right again," he said softly and straightened up. Looking across the bridge, he saw Gandalf coming towards them. "It was as you feared. Þauron."</p><p class="western">Gandalf looked tired and torn. It seemed as if he had been struggling, and he leaned heavily on his staff. But still he held himself upright.</p><p class="western">"Sauron indeed," he confirmed, looking sharply at Saruman. "As I have said all these years."</p><p class="western">"It was risky for you to go ahead alone," Saruman replied calmly.</p><p class="western">"And yet I did, and now time presses," Gandalf said, stepping past him. He looked to the north. "I fear that my friends will soon need me again. We may have won the day here, but the battle is far from over."</p><p class="western">"Mithrandir, give yourself a moment's rest," Elrond urged.</p><p class="western">Gandalf shook his head. "There is no time for that. War is coming to the North and I am needed. Every moment is precious."</p><p class="western">Elrond handed him a water bag. "Then at least take this. <em>Miruvor</em>."</p><p class="western">Gandalf bowed his head. "I appreciate this. But the work of the Council is not yet complete here. Sauron may have fled, but his servants still dwell here. The veil has been pierced, they can no longer hide. I, however, must return to the North. Farewell!"</p><p class="western">He was not dissuaded by any word as he turned away and disappeared into the forest. Maglor watched him go with a furrowed brow.</p><p class="western">"Come!" urged Saruman. "Sauron's refuse still pollutes the forest."</p><p class="western">They followed him into the ruins of Dol Guldur. Maglor sensed the presence of Sauron's servants, but they hid themselves. With them, however, had come the light, penetrating every corner of the ruins and driving away the shadows. The creatures could not hide for long. They hunted them relentlessly.</p><p class="western">It felt strange to wield a sword again. Maglor had not wielded his blade since the First Age, but somehow he had never forgotten. Killing suited him and that scared him.</p><p class="western">Maglor concentrated on staying close to Elrond to protect him. As it turned out, however, Elrond did not need a protector. Together they taught the orcs to fear that they soon fled from them.</p><p class="western">They swept through the ruins of Dol Guldur, destroying every creature of Sauron that came before their blades. The storm that Elrond had conjured with Vilya shook the ancient walls to their foundations, and soon Galadriel joined them. Together they battered Dol Guldur until in the end only rubble remained.</p><p class="western">Sauron was driven out. And yet it was only the beginning.</p><p class="western">"How will we proceed now?" asked Círdan when they had reassembled after their work was done.</p><p class="western">"Sauron will take a long time to recover from this blow," Saruman was sure. "We will not have to worry about him any time soon."</p><p class="western">"He has escaped us," Galadriel countered. "His existence is tied to the Ring, and until it is found, we will never be able to drive him out completely."</p><p class="western">"The Ring!" exclaimed Saruman. " Lady, we have spoken of this before. The Ring is lost and long since washed down the Anduin."</p><p class="western">"This is neither the place nor the time to discuss it," Elrond interjected. "This has been a long and tiring day and we should all rest."</p><p class="western">At least on that they agreed. Maglor still had the echo of Sauron's words in his bones. He tried to shake off the memory of it, but it still sent chills down his spine. It had been just one last attempt by Sauron to hurl a spike at him. Empty words, nothing more.</p><p class="western">So why had they only hit Maglor so hard?</p><p class="western">Because Sauron had easily hit his weak spot. Sauron was a master of lies and deceit and Maglor was his old enemy. Sauron knew him and he had learned much from his master to use his enemies' weaknesses against them. Maglor could not make the mistake of underestimating him just because he was not Morgoth.</p><p class="western">They moved away from the ruins of Dol Guldur and sought a place not too blighted to make camp for the night. Elrond inquired again about Maglor's well-being, but he was successful in assuring him that nothing was wrong. He would not tell Elrond what Sauron had shown him. He did not want to think about it any more himself.</p><p class="western">Long after the others had retired to rest, Maglor lay awake, pondering what lay ahead. He had done his part, his work was done and Elrond was safe. One thing, however, remained to be done. He looked to the north.</p><p class="western">Then he intoned a soft song so that no one would notice his going, rose and walked into the forest.</p><p class="western">"Forgive me, <em>onya</em>, but I already told you: I must know," he whispered.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Náhaman cala! - I call for light!; Qu.<br/>Auta i lóme! - The night is passing! (Quote from the Silmarillion)<br/>Aure entuluva! - Day shall come again! (Quote from The Silmarillion)<br/>Uryá cala! Ruca morna! - Flame light! Flee night!; Qu. (a quotation from the Unfinished Tales translated into Quenya)<br/>Utúlië'n aure! - The day has come!; Qu. (a quotation from the Silmarillion)<br/>----------<br/>In the next (and last) chapter Thranduil meets his childhood nightmare. Poor boy.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The Spirit of Fire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Maglor goes for the Arkenstone and everything gets sorted out. But not before he gives Thranduil a good scare.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">In all his years of wandering, Maglor had perfected the art of remaining unnoticed and not being found himself. He sang his songs and neither did Gandalf notice that Maglor was following him, nor did Elrond find his trail. For of course he wanted to prevent Maglor from searching for the Arkenstone. But Maglor covered his trail and his songs led Elrond astray, so that he finally allowed himself to be persuaded by Galadriel to let Maglor go.</p><p class="western">Maglor's heart bled at having to do this to his son, but he had no choice. He would not be able to find peace unless he could really and truly gain certainty. He only hoped that Elrond would eventually be able to understand.</p><p class="western">Led by Gandalf, Maglor crossed Mirkwood. Dol Guldur might now be cleansed, but the forest was far from being free of the breath of evil. Galadriel might be right: As long as the Ring was not found, Middle-earth would not find peace. But what if the Ring did indeed reappear? What then? Maglor did not know and did not want to think about it now. He had more important things on his mind.<br/>The memory of Elrond's hurt look tormented him. Was he really so foolish as to make the same mistake twice? And what would happen if the Arkstone was indeed his brother's <em>silmaril</em>?</p><p class="western">Would Maglor prove to the world that they were all right? That he was nothing more than a common murderer after all?</p><p class="western">He went on.</p><p class="western">Gandalf set a taut pace. Maglor did not know what Gandalf had in mind, but he too sensed that something was in the air. The beasts of the forest whispered of it and Maglor sensed it in the fabric of the world. Something great was about to happen to them. Whatever it was, it spurred Gandalf to haste.</p><p class="western">Maglor had never wandered so far into the East of Middle-earth. In his years of solitude he had always kept to the coasts, perhaps longing for what lay beyond the sea and would forever be denied him. He remembered what was said about the Misty Mountains.</p><p class="western">Once, in grey ages that were unfathomably ancient even for the Eldar, Morgoth had created these mountains to stop the wanderings of Orome. Later, when Orome led the Quendi westward from Cuiviénen, a portion of the Teleri's train had turned away in fear of the mountains and gone south. These were the Nandor, whose descendants still lived in these forests and whose king was Thranduil.</p><p class="western">As he neared the end of his path, Maglor decided that he had followed the Istar long enough and spurred his horse. He did not want Gandalf to get in his way, so was anxious to reach Erebor before he did.</p><p class="western">Maglor had not really thought about what would await him at the end of his journey. Most certainly, however, he had not expected to find a ruined city and a dead dragon in the midst of its ruins. He stared out at the ruins of Esgaroth, which were still stewing and smoking. Smaug's body lay twisted amidst the houses he had destroyed in his death twitches. The jewels on his belly gleamed, but no one would come to claim them.</p><p class="western">Whoever had hunted down the beast had to be a mighty hero indeed.</p><p class="western">The refugees who had escaped the destruction of the city crowded the shore. It could not have been too long ago, they had only just begun to erect tents. Maglor saw their need. Winter was coming and these people had nothing but what they wore. They were freezing and starving and without a home.</p><p class="western">"Heyho, master elf!" one of the men called out to him. "Have you lost your king?"</p><p class="western">Maglor made his horse stop and looked questioningly at the man. "Why should I have lost him?"</p><p class="western">The man pointed north towards Erebor. "The Woodland King passed through here only a short time ago with his soldiers, heading for the Lonely Mountain. He must have heard that the dragon is dead, and is now after the dwarves' treasure. You must know that."</p><p class="western">"Thranduil is not my king." Maglor had to stop himself from laughing out loud. As it was, this foolish Sinda was stupid enough to risk war for treasure. And all the world was pointing fingers at the Feanorians, when all they had done was demand back what was theirs anyway.</p><p class="western">"But I thank you for this information, good man," Maglor said, then spurred his horse.</p><p class="western">War was in the air. Something was going on there on the slopes of Erebor, he sensed it. He had survived the First Age, he knew the tension in the air of an impending battle.</p><p class="western">So it came as little surprise to him when he arrived to find an army of elves and men gathered among the foothills of the mountain. He recognised the coat of arms of Oropher, a crowned stag on a green background, waving above the army. Maglor pulled his hood deep into his face and made his way to the camp under cover of night.</p><p class="western">Even though he did not know where to look, something drew him to the command tent. His hands shook and he clenched them into fists. It was like when he had gone with Maedhros to steal from Eonwe. This time, however, no one suspected he was coming, and no Ainu stood in his way. Maglor gritted his teeth. The <em>silmaril</em> was his.</p><p class="western">Maglor kept to the shadows and no one seemed to take any real notice of him. He crept along between the tents. The camp was filled with the music of the elves, but this time Maglor did not pay much attention to it. He had spotted the king's tent and something told him he would find it there.</p><p class="western">"Fulfil the oath," his father's voice whispered in his ear.</p><p class="western">As Maglor stepped out from between two tents, he saw Bilbo step in front of Thranduil and a man who seemed to be the leader of the people. Bilbo was holding something in his hand, and when he flipped aside the cloth with which he had wrapped it, there was no longer any doubt.</p><p class="western">"This is the Arkenstone of Thrain," said Bilbo, "the Heart of the Mountain; and it is also the heart of Thorin. He values it above a river of gold. I give it to you. It will aid you in your bargaining."*</p><p class="western">Maglor looked into his brother's eyes all at once and saw in them the same madness that had consumed him. He felt their father's fire burning in the <em>silmarilli</em>, ruining his hands. And then he saw Maedhros fall and with him the light.</p><p class="western">How his <em>silmaril</em> had made it into the dwarves' treasure Maglor did not know. But now there was no doubt.</p><p class="western">But nothing burned within him any more. There was no longer any desire for his property, no compulsion to regain it. He saw the light of the Two Trees in his silmaril and he saw its beauty. But his soul no longer longed to seize it.</p><p class="western">Maglor could not believe it.</p><p class="western">And then, quite involuntarily, he had to laugh. It was over! It was truly over. Just like that.</p><p class="western">Thranduil looked in his direction and stepped towards him. "What is there to laugh about, soldier?" he demanded to know.</p><p class="western">Maglor almost laughed in Thranduil's face. He found himself face to face with a miniature version of Oropher, there was truly nothing left of the frightened little boy. And just like Oropher, Thranduil didn't know the powers he was dealing with and how easily they could mean his downfall.</p><p class="western">"Take heed, king," Maglor advised. "Do not play with the spirit of fire. He can burn you all too easily."</p><p class="western">Thranduil frowned. Then he saw the star on Maglor's armour and turned white as a sheet. "No, that is impossible …"</p><p class="western">Maglor bowed mockingly. Then he left without another word. He left just like that, turning his back on his <em>silmaril</em>. He could not believe it himself. Maglor happily sang a song, for this was indeed a moment of celebration.</p><p class="western">Amazingly, Thranduil let him go in peace. Maglor left the camp and sought a secluded spot on the slopes to watch the proceedings from there. He did not want to interfere in the matter, for this was no longer his story.</p><p class="western">The night was filled with the music of the elves and the voices of the humans. Maglor had been so focused on the <em>silmaril</em> that he hadn't really paid attention to why Thranduil had marched his army. It was probably about the treasure in Erebor, that much he knew. But there had to be more to it than that. Surely Thranduil would not be so foolish as to want to spill blood for a few treasures. Or did he indeed hate the dwarves so much that he would go so far?</p><p class="western">Maglor had never liked Oropher and apparently the son took after his father altogether.</p><p class="western">Morning came and with it war. Quite unexpectedly a third army had arisen, the dwarves under Daín Ironfoot, who had come to Thorin's aid. It looked as if things were going to get ugly, already the first arrows were flying. But then Gandalf appeared on the battlefield and he warned them all of another army of orcs and wargs.</p><p class="western">The sky darkened.</p><p class="western">Thus began the Battle of the Five Armies. Maglor did not take part in it, but he stood on the hillside and sang his Noldolante. He sang of his oath and of Manwe's Doom and the flight of the Noldor, as if he were a grim messenger of destiny.</p><p class="western">For quite a while things did not look good for the elves and men and dwarves, but then suddenly a cry rang out. "The eagles! The eagles! The eagles are coming!"</p><p class="western">Maglor raised his eyes, and it was to him as if Thorondor himself were descending from ancient times and descending upon the orcs. The great eagles of the mountains swept through the ranks of the orcs and smashed them. Maglor changed his song and now sang to the honour and glory of the eagles of Manwe, bringing with them the light of the sun. The clouds broke and the orcs fled.</p><p class="western">Silence fell over everything. Many had died that day, many who would have had a long life ahead of them. Among them was Thorin Oakenshield. For a while he had been king under the mountain and as such he was laid to rest in his kingdom, the Arkenstone at his breast. Many came to bid him farewell and pay their last respects. Among them was Maglor.</p><p class="western">The dwarves looked at him in surprise as to why an elf, of all people, had come, but Maglor paid them no further heed. He gazed at the <em>silmaril</em>, the Heart of the Mountain.</p><p class="western">"Farewell, brother," he whispered. "Our suffering has come to an end, our story is now over. I love you, Nelyo, and wish you peace where you are now."</p><p class="western">He wept, yet he smiled. As he left, he whistled a happy song to himself.</p><p class="western">On a whim, he joined Gandalf and Bilbo on his way back. The Hobbit expressed surprise to find Lindir here, but Maglor merely smiled and said that he had come on a family matter. Gandalf, of course, knew what this might be, but he said nothing. Together they travelled back over the mountains to Rivendell.</p><p class="western">As soon as they entered the valley, Maglor sensed Elrond's worry. A father knew such things about his child. Elrond came to meet him as soon as he realised Maglor was back, and did not even bother to hide his relief. He wrapped Maglor in his arms.</p><p class="western">"Don't do this to me again," he whispered. "I won't let you go again!"</p><p class="western">Maglor returned the embrace, but then he held Elrond at arm's length in front of him. "<em>Onya</em>, look here." He took off his gloves and showed him his hands. They were completely healed. "It is over, <em>onya</em>. Really and truly. I will never leave you again, I promise."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*quote from the Hobbit</p><p>All's well that ends well. As promised, the happy ending. And of course they sail off to the West together. Many thanks to all of you who have read this far and accompanied me in my writing. You guys are awesome!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>